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“Did you ever, you know, get together with anyone out here?” Oriana wanted to ask:have you been alone this whole time?But the words were crass and terrible.
“I haven’t met anyone, naw,” Brea answered. “It’s sort of hard to get to know anyone when you spend all your time running from yourself, you know?”
Oriana nodded, more broken-hearted than ever. All this time, Oriana had been allowed to live a wonderful, love-filled life. Meanwhile, Brea had been on the run.
After dinner, as they walked along the beach back toward Brea’s little house, Oriana confessed she was exhausted.
“You must be so jet-lagged,” Brea said. “I remember when I first got out here. I slept for three days.” She paused, then added, “Of course, that happens to me sometimes. I just pass out and don’t wake up for a while.”
Oriana knew that was a symptom of depression. She wondered if Brea had ever sought medical help but decided it wasn’t her place to ask. Not now.
Back at Brea’s place, she insisted on making up the bed and giving it to Oriana. Oriana fought long and hard against it, but mid-yawn, she burst into a mix of laughter and tears and recognized she couldn’t fight a moment more.
“You can have the other side,” Oriana said as she slipped into Brea’s bed, her eyes half-closed. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed a million times before.”
Brea’s voice was sweet yet resigned. “We’re old ladies now. We need our space.”
This was the last Oriana heard before her world faded to black, and she was allowed, mercifully, to sleep.
ChapterSeventeen
November 1998
Kenny’s kidney transplant was scheduled for two days before Thanksgiving. The morning of, Brea got out of bed before five to drink coffee and worry herself silly at the kitchen counter. It would be a day for the ages, one she would never forget in all her life. And gosh. She just wanted it to be over already.
When Brea had announced her “job raise” to Kenny and Valerie, she’d also explained to Valerie (with brand-new confidence) that she and Kenny needed their apartment to themselves again. “You can stay in the city. I’ll help you pay for a room,” Brea had explained. Valerie had jumped at it, with Brea assuring her it was only temporary. “As soon as Kenny gets well again, we won’t need any more help,” she’d said as sweetly as she could. She’d also said that Valerie wasn’t allowed at the hospital on the day of Kenny’s surgery, which Valerie had begrudgingly agreed to. Brea thought if Valerie was with her at the hospital, her head might explode.
When Kenny awoke a little while later, Brea helped him get up, shower, and dress. He was terribly weak, his arms and legs like putty, but he cracked jokes with her and made her smile in a way that nearly reminded her of the “old” Kenny. This did little to distract Brea from her horrific fears. Not everyone survived kidney transplants. Not everyone woke up on the other side.
Brea had asked for the day off from work, explaining to Oriana that Kenny’s mother was in town, and they wanted to show her the sights. “Oh no. I know how much you don’t like Valerie,” Oriana had said, wrinkling her nose. “Let me know if you need backup. I can swoop in at any time to help out. I’ve got plenty of gossip to throw at her!” Brea had laughed, thinking it was incredible that she’d managed to lie so often to her best friend over the past couple of months. It made her feel disconnected from her heart.
At the hospital, Brea and Kenny sat in the waiting room, holding hands. Brea tried to think of something to say, anything to get Kenny’s mind off his worries, but she was too tormented with her own.
Just before they called Kenny in, though, Brea made eye contact with him and said, “You’re the love of my life, you know that?”
Kenny’s eyes glinted with tears. “I know. You’re mine, too. But that goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
Brea laughed gently. “You think I’m being overly dramatic, don’t you?”
“As usual,” Kenny joked.
Brea chuckled, allowing tears to flow. She kissed him with her eyes closed, thinking he was the only man she’d ever kissed— and she was just fine with that. She’d never wanted anyone else.
After they wheeled Kenny back into surgery, Brea sat in the waiting room for a long time, staring out the window at the city, which made her feel out of her element. Around her, very sick people streamed in and out, most of them in wheelchairs, some of them at the end of their lives. Their fear or resignation made Brea sick to her stomach, and she stood up to pace outside, shivering in the November chill. Everything was decorated for Christmas. Wreaths hung on doors, garlands wrapped around telephone poles, and Christmas songs spat out of speakers. She couldn’t imagine feeling any Christmas cheer.
At the stoplight, she paused for a moment, stared down at the pavement, and considered what she’d done. She’d stolen the keys to the gallery from Oriana’s desk, then led Neal inside to swap out the painting. She’d taken the money and watched Neal slip into a taxi and disappear through the night.
Now, she had nearly two million dollars in bills under a floorboard in the apartment she shared with Kenny. And he had absolutely no idea. Nobody did. In fact, she’d been in the gallery when Walter had come to bring the painting home. As Walter had paced like a cat in front of the painting, Brea’s stomach had swirled with such anxiety that she’d thought she might die.
“It really is something,” Walter had said finally before turning back to nod at two of his employees, who then set to work wrapping the painting to take it home. “Oriana, you’ve really outdone yourself. I’ve told all my dearest friends about your services. I hope this isn’t the last time we see one another, in both an art context and a social one.”
Oriana had smiled like a princess who’d just been told she’ll be queen. After Walter had left, she’d taken Brea’s hand in hers and squealed, “We did it! It’s gone! The painting is gone!” What Oriana didn’t know, of course, was that the painting had been gone for three days at that point.
During the hours Brea waited for Kenny’s surgery to finish, Brea worked herself up to such a panic that often, she wasn’t sure she could breathe. Now that Neal had gotten the painting out of her, he’d stopped all forms of communication. She suspected he didn’t even live in the apartment he’d invited her to— that it had all been a ruse. Probably, Neal wasn’t even his real name.
Oh gosh. And what if Kenny didn’t make it through the surgery? What would Brea do? She’d put her and Oriana’s careers on the line for Neal and his cash, all for Kenny’s health. And if it didn’t work out? Where would she be, then?
There was no life after Kenny, Brea knew. She wouldn’t be able to pursue a career. She couldn’t pretend to be anything short of a very lonely, crazy woman.
