Bree was studying herself in the bathroom mirror, her eyes squinting to stare into her own. They'd stopped at a hotel well after 4 in the morning, where Nick had paid for a room and carried their bags up inside. He'd promptly fallen asleep, face-down on the mattress, encouraging Bree to do the same, but she felt like her hair was becoming a giant matted mess of a dreadlock and wanted to take a shower before she settled down. Now, after her shower, warm and dry, she was staring into the bathroom mirror, a photograph of her father leaning against the glass. She glanced at him, then leaned closer to the mirror, trying to see the similarities that everyone saw between them. She poked at her jaw bone, pinched her nose and wiggled her eyebrows a bit. She couldn't see it.
With a sigh, Bree pulled her tooth brush out of her bag and started scrubbing her teeth, watching the popping of her cheeks in the mirror as the brush pushed them out. She made faces at herself and giggled, letting the foamy paste dribble down her chin like she was a mad dog or something.
Suddenly, a shout came from the other room, making Bree jump and spit the foam. She threw the toothbrush onto the counter and pulled her pajama shirt over her head, her hair hanging damp against her neck, and raced around the corner into the main room.
Nick was up, pacing, his hands shaking, eyes unfocused. He was muttering, mumbling, wringing his hands.
"Nick?" she asked, "You okay?"
"Yeah, yes, yeah-huh," he muttered, nodding vigorously, though obviously completely distracted.
"Nick?"
"Yup, yeah, I'm fine," he continued pacing.
Bree wasn't sure what to do. She hovered there, uncomfortable. Nick's hands traveled to the back of his head and he cupped the curve of his scalp with his palms, eyes twisted heaven-ward. "Oh God," he muttered.
"Nick?"
He looked at Bree. "I fucking miss him," he gasped.
Bree thought of the photograph sitting on the counter in the bathroom. She thought of the features her father had, of what little she knew of him. She tried her best to imagine what Brian might've done in this same situation. She inched closer to Nick. Her dad would hug him, wouldn't he? Her dad would tell him it's okay, right? She wrapped her arms around Nick's frame, stopping the pacing and the wringing of the hands. Nick stood stock-still, like he'd been shocked by electricity. He stared down at her. "It's all right, Nick," she said.
"I'm sorry," Nick answered. He sounded defeated.
Bree nodded, "No it's okay, Nick," she answered, "Really."
Nick had tears in his eyes.
Leighanne was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea on the table in front of her, untouched. She stared into the amber liquid, the steam rising from the cup, her hands clasping it. Tears were in her eyes, unshed, just barely holding onto stability on the lids. Her jaw shook. She hadn't heard from Nick or Bree, she had no idea where they were, or what they were doing - if they were safe, if they were alive, if they were together, even. She'd been playing a terrible scenario over and over in her head where Nick put Bree onto a plane and was mad enough at Leighanne not to call her to tell her and Bree's plane had been hijacked by West African Pirates or something. It was ridiculous, but few women are rational when their youngest child is missing.
When the phone rang at eight AM, she was, for the first time, disappointed to see Baylee's name on the caller ID. "Have you heard from your sister?" was the first words out of her mouth - not even a greeting preceeded it.
Baylee hesitated. "Yeah," he replied, "Well, kind of."
"Kind of?"
Baylee again hesitated. "Well I kind of texted her and she sort of answered."
"Is she okay? Where the hell is she?" Leighanne's voice climbed in expectation and relief.
"I don't know," Baylee admitted. "I didn't ask that yet. But I did tell her you were kinda pissed."
"I'm just scared, that's all."
"I know mom," Baylee replied. He paused, "Is it really so terrible if Uncle Nick took her on a road trip, though? Really?" he asked.
"Nick has no business --" Leighanne started, but Baylee interrupted her.
"--Telling Bree about Dad? 'Cos you know, she's been asking a ton of questions about him recently..." Baylee paused, "I dunno mum, I think it's time she get some of those questions answered and honestly we both know Nick knew Dad better than anyone else."
"I don't trust him," she replied.
"You always let him watch me," Baylee argued.
"Nick was a different person back then," Leighanne answered.
"Not really," Baylee said, "He just has been through more now, that's all."
Leighanne's silence was ominous. Baylee sighed, "I'm not trying to challenge you, I'm not even on his side. I'm just saying that I think maybe it's a good thing if they get a chance to talk about dad, that's all. At least she can get her answers without having to put you or I through an emotional obstacle course, you know?"
"If you talk to her, please tell her that I want her home - now, not later, okay?"
"Yeah," Baylee replied, "Sure mom."
Hours later, Nick woke up and found he'd fallen asleep sitting on the edge of the bed. Bree was in a chair beside it, her head resting on th mattress, still breathing heavy from deep sleep. He felt sheepish suddenly for his outburst the night before, but all the thinking about Brian's death earlier had led to a horrific nightmare. He couldn't even put words around what he'd seen in his dream, but it had shaken him to his core and he'd awoken, traumatized and afraid, a deep gut-wrenching ache for Brian's presence residing in him. Bree had come out of no where, she'd been just like her father, from the tone to the amount of pressure in her arms when she hugged. It was the weirdest sensation Nick had ever had.
He stood up slowly, and, careful not to wake her, scooped her up from the chair and slid her into the blankets on the other bed, tucking her in gently. He made sure the blankets were around her just right, and softly pushed a piece of hair away from her face. She sighed and shifted, never rousing.
Nick drew a deep breath and turned to look at the digital face of the alarm clock. It was nearly nine in the morning now. He yawned and stretched his shoulders, cracking his back, and grabbed his cell and wallet from the night stand. He jotted out a note on the company Post-it pad and stuck his note to the pillow beside Bree, then slipped out the door of the hotel room.
