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Chapter Five

Nick's house wasn't at all what Bree had imagined. It was a gray shack-style home, right on the water a little south of Los Angeles. It was the sort of house that most people probably considered a vacation cabin, not a full-time residence. Nick pulled into the tenth-of-a-mile long driveway and the car slid through a grove of trees that provided visual privacy from the road. It was funny, but Bree hadn't really imagined there being actual trees in California - only palm trees. The house had a slim patch of lawn, which was accented with a pair of hot pink plastic flamingos - one of which had tipped over onto its side. He parked the car and glanced her direction, seeing her looking around, her eyes obviously less than impressed, he said, "The front ain't much to look at but the back - you'll see."

Bree followed Nick into the house, where he led her through the house, down two steps and flipped on a light in a small room to the right of the living room space. "I don't really have a guest room," his voice was apologetic, "But the sofa in here folds out."

Bree looked around. The room was obviously an unused office or den of some sort - but almost everything had a thick layer of dust. It was obvious he'd come in with a Swiffer and hit the more commonly used objects - the lamps and such - and installed a telephone. He'd put a blanket onto the couch and an old, worn looking pillow at one end. A teddy bear sat on there, too, and she wondered if he'd forgotten before he saw her how old she was. In one corner of the room stood a folded easle with three back-to canvases leaning against the wall below it, all held into place by a big black guitar case.

Dropping onto the sofa, Bree pointed at the guitar case, "What kind of guitar?"

"Acoustic."

"Upgrade to a better model?"

"Quit playing it," he replied. The finality of his voice made Bree decide to drop the subject, but she made a mental note to revisit it. Nick dropped her bags onto the floor and took a deep breath, "Well you're probably tired so... I'll um, I'll let you settle in or... whatever it is girls do... and I'll go make you some dinner."

"What are we having?"

"I gotta consult the take out menu gods," he replied.

Bree laughed.

"What do you like?"

"All kinds of stuff," Bree answered.

"Pizza?"

"Sure."

With that, Nick ducked out of the room and left Bree to herself. She leaned back into the sofa cushions and continued her appraisal of the room. There was a fireplace on one wall, electric by the looks of it, and the mantle was covered with awards emblazoned with Nick's name. Around on the walls hung platinum album displays and certificates and photographs. From every corner of the room, a younger version of Nick and her father smiled down at her. Then her eyes landed on a photograph, hanging in a simple black frame on black matting board - it was a Polaroid. Bree got up and walked over and squinted at it.

It was a picture of the view out a tour bus window from behind the front seats - the driver and the passanger back-to, the shapes of their heads clearly recognizable as Nick and Brian. Nick's mouth was open wide with a laugh and Brian's was pinched in amusement. Written beneath it in the half inch of caption space, in Brian's hand writing, was the words Something Beautiful.

Bree stared at the photo for what felt like forever. Emotions rising and choking her up from with in. She reached out to take a hold of it - to take it off the wall - when the door opened and Nick stepped back into the room. She jumped back from the wall, hand still extended towards it, like she'd been shot from a cannon.

"Pizza's gonna be about fifteen --" he stopped before the word minutes came out of his mouth and he moved closer, his eyes landing on the photograph. He froze for a moment, then looked at her. "That's one of my favorite pictures," he said. "In the entire world."

"What does the caption mean?"

Nick rubbed his chin. "When your dad was dying," he said slowly, "When we went on the road trip - it was kind of like this mission to, like, find the most beautiful thing." He paused. "So we went to all these places, and saw all these crazy-beautiful things, trying to find that one something beautiful for your dad... because he wanted to see true beauty before he died, you know...?" He paused. His voice had grown thicker, shakier while he spoke. His eyes were moist.

Bree stared at the photograph. The pieces falling into place as Nick spoke. "He chose you?"

"Not me," Nick said, "He chose us, me and him, our friendship."

Bree stared at the picture again. "So what did you beat out of the running?"

Nick smiled. "Piper's Eagle for one," he said, "And the Rocky Mountains, and the view of the earth from a plane when you jump out of it..."

"He must've been so brave."

"He was scared to fucking death," Nick laughed.

"It's not brave if you aren't scared," Bree quoted with a smirk.

Nick shook his head, "We took him to this outdoor adventures place in Colorado and they had bungee jumping off this gorge there and I did it with Amanda and your dad literally wouldn't even walk across the bridge to the point where you bungee from. It was like that one scene in Stand By Me with Verno on the train bridge."

Bree giggled. "He was scared of heights?"

"Oh hell yes. I am, too, but he was way worse."

Bree smiled, "I am, too. Scared of heights, I mean."

"You're so much like him," said Nick, "It's ridiculous how much you're like him."

"Really?"

Nick nodded.

Bree turned and sat down on the sofa with a sigh, hugging the pillow to her chest. Nick stared at the photograph for a moment longer before sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her. She looked up at him. "I think that's why my mom hates me."

"Your mom doesn't hate you."

"She really does," Bree said.

Nick sighed. "It's hard," he said slowly, "When you're so in love like that and you lose it so suddenly..." He stared at the toes of his sneakers.

Bree didn't know what to say.

The door bell chimed and Nick thumbed over his shoulder, "Dinner," he said, before turning and jogging out of the room.

Bree stood up and looked at the picture again for a moment. She glanced at the door, the way Nick had gone, and put her hand on the photograph, right by Brian, wishing she could fall into the picture the way the children in the Chronicles of Narnia fell through the wardrobe into other worlds.