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Chapter Two

Brian had always teased Leighanne for her cleaning habits - the way she obessively neatened, straightened, dusted, and whatnot when she was upset. She could almost hear him joking around, 'The vacuum cleaner's out, I must be in trouble!' This echoing reminder only made her work harder. The room reeked of Windex and Pinesol. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor, when the front door slammed shut and she heard the sounds of Bree's arrival in the front hall.

Leighanne closed her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't love Bree, she did. Really. Bree had been the last thing that Brian had given her - both a blessing and a curse when, a month and a half after he died, she found herself at the doctor's being told she was pregnant. At first, when Bree had been born with Brian's eyes, his sharp jaw bone and nose, this was a blessing, too, something that Leighanne had craved to see again. But the more her features resembled his as she aged, the more her laughter echoed memories that she'd been struggling to let go of, the more resentment had built in Leighanne's heart. And she felt guilty for it, it's not that she felt justified in her emotions, but it wasn't something she knew how to control, either. And Leighanne liked control, she liked order. She liked neatness.

Especially since Brian had been gone.

Taking a deep breath, Leighanne coached herself - as she had every time she'd looked at Bree this week - to be a good mother, to not push away her child because she didn't want to be reminded of her long-dead husband. "Bree? How was school today?" she called out.

Bree's footsteps clamboured toward the kitchen and a part of Leighanne wondered why Bree couldn't just call out an answer, too, why she couldn't stay in the other room where she wouldn't have to see her, wouldn't have to smell her, feel her presence.

It was February 19th, and sixteen years ago on this day, Leighanne had been baking a strawberry cake. Sixteen years ago on this day, she'd been waiting for Nick and Howie and AJ to agree to come to the party, talking to other friends and family members. She'd been waiting for Brian to come home from the hospital, where he'd gone for a check-up between treatment cycles. But that was sixteen years ago. Today, and every year for the past sixteen, she'd been on her hands and knees, scouring the kitchen floor.

"It was crap," Bree answered flatly. Her strawberry-blonde hair darkened in the winter to a deep shade of red, almost ruby, and she wore peasant style clothes - pieces from the collections Leighanne had once designed, pieces left over from Leighanne's closet from long ago. Leighanne had never thrown those clothes out - they'd smelled of Brian, and Bree's excitement for them had led to a misjudged choice to give them to her daughter when she turned sixteen.

"Watch your mouth," Leighanne said, turning back to cleaning, unable to look at her.

"You asked how my day was and that's how it was," Bree responded.

"I didn't expect you to answer like a sailor," Leighanne answered. She licked her lips. This attitude she was throwing at Bree wasn't at all what she'd planned. She wanted to get along with her, she wanted them to be a family. But ever since Baylee had left for college - almost five years ago now - it'd been getting harder and harder to feel that way. Particularly now that Baylee never came home - even for the holidays. "Why was your day bad?" Leighanne asked, trying again to be friendly.

Bree sighed, "Just the same thing as always," she answered, "I'm uncool and everybody hates me. It's not news, really. Just my life as it is." She shrugged.

"I'm sure they don't hate you," Leighanne answered.

Bree couldn't help but think that those were the exact words that Baylee had said about Leighanne, but she held back the comment and answered, "I'm pretty sure they do." This answer, she realized, was as equally meant for Baylee as it was for Leighanne.

"You have lots of friends," Leighanne said.

Bree never ceased to be amazed that her mother thought this - yet Leighanne never ceased to seem to believe it. Bree hadn't had a friend over since she was six years old, and even then the girl had been duped into coming over because Bree had claimed to have a pony, which was a lie, of course. Bree had never had any friends. They kind of left her on the outskirts of everything - intially because she was the kid without a father, like being too close to her would make their father's disappear, too; and then because she didn't know how to talk to them. Slowly, she'd become immersed in herself, in her own world, in a place in her mind she escaped to so she didn't feel their cold stares anymore.

But Leighanne didn't notice that somehow.

"I have a lot of homework to do," Bree said, "I'll be in my room."

Relieved she didn't have to try to be the good mother anymore, Leighanne responded, "Have fun," in a half-hearted manner, and continued on with her scrubbing, even though her knees and knuckles were aching and her hands were cracking.

Bree thundered up the stairs, passing Baylee's old room that had remained untouched - a shrine to her older brother - and closed her bedroom door. She dropped her backpack by her desk - her homework having been completed already during lunch and on the school bus home - and lowered herself onto the floor. She reached under her bed, pulled out the large tupperware box of things that she'd collected that had once belonged to her father, including Brian's Bible, which Nick had given her on her fifth birthday.

She held the Bible on her lap and ran her fingers over the cover. The worn, creased leather felt soft and smooth under her touch, and she hugged it to her chest, her breath shaking. She wondered how it was that she could physically ache from mising someone that she'd never even met. She lowered the book to her lap again and stared down at it as she lifted the cover and started flipping through the pages, looking at the margins, where Brian's tight printed handwriting cramped to the actual text, notes about things he'd found important once upon a time.

Bree had spent lots of time looking at these notes over the years, but never failed to be surprised by some new piece she'd not yet encountered before. It was like little messages of wisdom to her from a father she'd never met, whose life so greatly altered her own. Everyday, her world revolved around this man, this mystical man whose identity was nothing short of a mystery to her.

Today, her eyes scanned pages in the mid-section of the book. It was here that she found the book of Isaiah, a name she'd always liked from the Bible, and she flipped until she saw notes that she'd never seen before.

Something beautiful: Piper's Eagle.


It was underlined three times in pen - something she'd learned through reading around that Brian only marked the most important notes in actual pen. Most of his notes were in either erasable pen or pencil. She ran her fingers over the words several times before she determined these words were most definitely written in honest to God pen. She tilted her head at the passage, and the only connection she could see between the passage and the note was the mention of an eagle. She furrowed her brow.

She called Baylee.

"Hello?" Baylee sounded distracted as he answered the call.

"Hey Baylee, it's Bree."

"Bree," Baylee's voice had laughter in it. "I can't talk right now, okay? I'm kinda busy."

"It's about Dad, though," she said.

Baylee's hand covered the mouthpiece. "Just give me a second okay? Just a second, it's my little sister." His voice was muffled. A moment later, she heard a door close, and his hand uncover the mouthpiece. "Hey," he said again.

"Who's Piper?"

"What?"

"I was looking at Dad's Bible - you know, the one Nick gave me? - and there's this note in the margin that says something about someone named Piper."

Baylee's voice literally sounded like he was shrugging. "I dunno," he answered. "Look, Bree, I'm sure it doesn't matter. He knew like a million people, like record execs and stuff, you know? Dad was a popular guy. I'm sure it doesn't matter."

Bree gnawed her lip. "I guess."

"It's nobody important, if it was someone important, I'd tell you."

"Would you?" Bree asked.

Baylee, still sounding distracted, asked, "Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno," Bree answered, "Because nobody ever wants to talk about Dad. Ever."

"It's just hard to talk about it, Bree."

"I know. I just wish someone would tell me about him. I want to know about him. I have a right to know about him, don't I? He's just as much my father as yours, isn't he?"

"I guess," Baylee replied. "Look, I gotta go Bree."

"Bye, Baylee."

"I'll call sometime this week."

"Uh-huh," she agreed, "When you get the chance."

"Right."

"Bye Baylee."

"Bye Bree."

When the phone call disconnected, Bree turned her focus back to the Bible. Baylee's response hadn't really fulfilled her curiosity, though. She ran her fingers over the letters once again, staring down at them - wondering.