Page 17 of Falls From Grace
Was it a crush? She had eyes so she couldn’t help but notice the curves of Savannah’s knockout body, the hidden sparkle of her eyes, the sheer biteableness of her lower lip. Uh-oh, okay, apparently she’d noticed a lot. But you could admire someone’s beauty without it being a crush, exactly. There was, however, a noticeable buzz running through her after her evening with Savannah, a happy, tingling energy that possibly was a worrying sign.
It had just been a really nice evening, that was all. After Savannah’s annoyed lakeside lecture (hot, Brynn’s brain helpfully supplied) she had invited her back to her wing of the house, requested Luis whip up a couple of big pizzas for them (wood fired, thin crust, authentic) poured herself a glass of red wine (just sparkling water for Brynn, thanks) and sat on her living room floor, pulling out record after record.
She’d lost any of her usual reserve, her voice getting high as she made passionate points, her hands flying as she spoke. Her eyes shone whenever Brynn enjoyed a track until Brynn herself could no longer separate her own aural enjoyment from that of getting to make Savannah look so victorious and happy.
Tucker had clambered all over Brynn, tugging her in all directions, his big eyes bright and his excitement clear. It had felt nice to be so wanted and accepted, the little boy grabbing her hand, jumping into her arms, patting her face and laughing hysterically at her extreme witticisms, such as making his nose beep or tickling his toes. He was just ridiculously sweet and funny.
The combination of good food, increasingly good music and being the focus of attention for both a beautiful woman and an adorable child; it was enough to make anyone feel slightly intoxicated.
Was it a crush if you fell asleep that night with a smile on your lips, replaying a song in your head? Brynn could only hope not.
The next morning, after breakfast, Brynn set herself up at the living room table with a third cup of coffee to stare at her textbook again. She was surprised and yet reassured to realize she still remembered her respiratory and metabolic acidosis and alkalosis ranges, which her brain had somehow decided that she, as a layperson, obviously needed to maintain, along with memes from eight years ago and lines from The Simpsons. Even as she was pleased with herself, she was frustrated for being pleased in the first place. If she’d stayed on track, that knowledge would be like being happy she remembered how to tie her own shoes and she would have wildly expanded her expertise since then. God, she really was a loser.
Could she really go back? Where would she need to start? How many other thirty-somethings would there be amongst the other med students? Surely, now she had a stack of life experience behind her, she could handle the pressure. Or would it be worse, because she’d already failed once before?
Her family would be happy to hear she was back on track. Brynn figured it would be at least fifteen years of hard slog before she was back at a level her parents would deem acceptable to add her back into the bragging rights they had about their other children. Brynn wondered if she’d fallen out of their annual Christmas letter altogether. Anna has been promoted to associate professor of pediatric medicine, Stephen topped his class for his physician exams and…that’s it, all our children accounted for! Petra, our golden retriever, has had a stellar year…
She slumped in her chair and let her head fall onto the pages of the textbook in front of her. Who was she kidding? This was an exercise in futility. Did she even want to be a doctor, or just to make her parents proud? The thought of being back on the wards still turned her stomach to stone, but she knew it was about more than that. She just wanted to know she had a place in the world, that her life had purpose.
The first few years in LA she’d worked a mishmash of jobs, mostly on film sets in catering and low-level assistant work. She had no real interest in show business though, and the egos and competition she saw there not only bored her, but when compared with the career she’d left behind, it crushed her soul.
For a while, lifeguarding had filled a hole, preventing drownings, resuscitating a few near misses. She’d loved the feeling of plunging into the water and knowing her body was strong, keeping families together and loved ones safe. There was no reason she couldn’t go back to that, if she could just find a place close enough to the beach, but the truth was, she’d conquered it. After years of playing it safe, she wanted a challenge again. She had no idea what that challenge was, though.
She pushed back her chair and decided to get out in the fresh air. She still wasn’t keen on the woods but she’d enjoyed the lake walk with Savannah and Tucker yesterday. Adding an extra couple of layers of clothing under her increasingly useless jacket, she headed out into the cold.
It must have been the company that had made yesterday’s walk so pleasurable though, because today it just felt miserable. The day was gloomy; both the lake and sky were the color of dull steel. What had been a chilly breeze yesterday felt bordering on a gale today; her hair kept being whipped from her ponytail and into her eyes, which were streaming from the chill. Finally, a steady cold rain began to fall, and cursing, she jogged her way back toward the house.
She arrived on the back doorstep just at the same time as Savannah, who was back in her distracting running gear and looking far too bright compared with Brynn’s black mood. The sight of the singer was a welcome serotonin hit though: with her skin gleaming with rain and her smile blazing despite still catching her breath, she was the definition of a sight for sore eyes.
“Hey,” Savannah gasped, bending down to remove her running shoes. “What are you doing out here? It’s hardly the weather for a walk.”
“I mean, I know that now.” Brynn screwed up her nose as she shrugged out of her wet jacket. “But surely it’s not running weather either,” she pointed out, tugging off her boots.
“Doesn’t matter,” shrugged Savannah. “Rain or shine. Keeps me sane.”
And fit, Brynn’s brain chimed in, trying to keep her eyes away from where they badly wanted to gaze. “Hey,” she remembered, as she followed the other woman into the house. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
“You do?” Savannah cast her a low-lashed glance over her shoulder, which honestly, in any other context, Brynn would have interpreted as flirtatious. She blinked and pulled her brain back under control. They entered the main living room where the log fire was burning. Normally she’d be thrilled, but after her own unscheduled jog, it felt stifling. She pulled off all her layers until she was left with just her t-shirt, which she plucked away from her body, fanning herself with it. She felt Savannah’s eyes on her.
“Yeah,” she continued, shaking raindrops out of her hair. “Yesterday you gave me a thorough run-through on country music, but you left someone out.”
“Who?” Savannah blurted, clearly shocked to imagine Brynn knew an artist she didn’t.
“You,” Brynn pointed out. “I don’t know much, but I do know you’re a big deal. So what gives? Too modest?”
Savannah was already pink-cheeked from the exertion and the warm room. She had no further layers to take off, at least not without Brynn needing to flee like her head was on fire. Still, she flushed a little deeper at Brynn’s question. She looked slightly disturbed rather than pleased, and Brynn found herself wishing she could shove the words back in her mouth.
“I… feel weird about my music,” Savannah said. “It’s from another life, you know?” Brynn nodded, waiting. “Do you really not know any of it? I mean- I’m not…it just felt like it was everywhere for a minute there.”
“Yeah, I do know that one song,” she admitted. “Your Heart?”
“Ugh, I hate that fucking song.” Savannah rolled her eyes. Brynn laughed out loud.
“Wait, what? Didn’t you write it?”
“Co-wrote it, sung it, recorded it, released it, played it about a thousand times live,” Savannah agreed. “Still hate it. Always hated it. It was about Cole, his addiction, our fucked up marriage. Most of the lyrics are him begging for another shot. Then it was our biggest hit, and I had to sing it night after night, forever. Always made me feel a bit sick.”
“Oh,” said Brynn. A weird wave of shame washed over her as she heard that Savannah’s husband had been an addict, as if she were guilty by association somehow. “Do you…want me to not listen to your music?” she asked. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
