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Chapter Twenty-One

Brian had never been so relieved to see goats before in his entire life.

They'd rode in silence so thick that he was pretty certain it was a blackhole in the universe, sucking in all the matter around them and leaving behind only thick, empty air. He wanted nothing more than to run home, lock himself away in his room, and simply never come out again, but not wanting to be rude, he drove onward through it, his knuckles white around the wheel. He pictured what Nick would say later when he told him - if he told him - about Emma having been pregnant before.

"Dude," he could almost hear Nick's voice echoing in his head, "You knocked up a chick?"

Nick in all his eloquent glory.

But as the truck broke through the trees and trundled up the sloping dirt road to Maryfield Farms, they discovered that not only had Maryfield stayed in business all these years, but they'd actually expanded and offered more than just ice cream, and goat petting now. The lot was jammed and the sound of fiddle and banjo music wafted over the grounds.

When Brian cut the engine, they sat in silence, the music humming in a muffled, far-off sort of way. Emma stared straight ahead, her mouth curled into a disgusted sort of look and Brian felt his fingers getting restless. He started clenching and unclenching a fist and took deep, warbly breaths. After a long moment, he said, "Are you okay?" he paused, then added, "Now, I mean?"

Emma nodded.

The awkward silence continued. Brian felt like he was drowning. He was about to open his mouth to ask if she was angry with him when she let out a squeal and the passanger door banged open and Emma jumped out of the truck. Brian's eyes swung to see what she'd seen and his eyes landed on what hers had and he laughed, grabbed her purse from the abandoned seat and climbed out to join her at the fence that separated the field from the parking area.

Emma had climbed up onto the lower wrung of the fence and was leaning over it, eagerly patting a large butterscotch colored goat, whose eyes were encircled with patches of great, and had one grey-furred leg. Brian stepped up behind her and raised an arm to guard block her as she reached for the goat. He watched the curve of her body, frail and suddenly seeming tiny to him. He couldn't explain it, but he had the sudden desire to grab her up and tuck her into his pocket for safe keeping, to protect her from the world he'd once abandoned her in.

Completely unaware of Brian's emotions, Emma felt the wirey fur of the goat slip beneath her fingertips and his boney frame pressed against her hands hard and dry feeling. Old feelings were crawling back up inside her, reawakened by having rehashed the past with Brian. They were new wounds for him, but old for her. She wondered what he was thinking, and she knew that she'd been right when she'd kept it from him and his parents. He would've come back, she could feel that much radiating off him, and he never would've had his career. She knew it was selfish, but she couldn't help but feel like that would've been wonderful. If he'd come back.

Brian helped her down off the fence a moment later, and his hands on her back, on her arm, which he used to steady her descent felt like fire. She imagined the connection between Harry and Voldemort's wands in the fourth Potter movie and imagined that touch was something of what it might've felt like for the wands. Only less evil, more heart racing.

They walked together in silence past the other parked cars to the large barn where the Maryfield Country Store was in full swing of celebration. Brian reached for the door and as it swung open the sounds of the music swelled out like an ocean wave and engulfed them. They stepped inside the store and the smell of sweet apples and cinnamon filled Emma's nostrils and she stopped a couple steps in, her eyes wide and marveling at the ceiling, where thousands of twinkle lights hung to illuminate the room. They sparkled like the stars in the darkest night sky. She smiled brightly.

Brian's voice broke the silence between them finally, "Beautiful," he said.

Emma looked at him. He, too, was staring up at the twinkle lights and she watched them twinkle in his eye's reflection for a moment as she studied the curve of his jaw and angle of his nose. "Yeah," she replied.

Brian looked down at her and smiled and motioned toward the ice cream counter and Emma moved numbly that direction. Something was freezing her up inside and she couldn't put her finger on the emotion. It wasn't sadness, she could tell that much. She was so used to feeling tragic that it was a bit of a surprise to be feeling something else, but it was, no mistaking, something.

They approached the counter and waited in line, Brian's eyes scanning the menu, choosing what he wanted to eat. When it was their turn, he ordered a medium sundae with butterscotch on chocolate ice cream with a cherry and nuts. Emma ordered a regular sundae and reached for her wallet to pay, but before she could, Brian had already forked over the money and taken the change. Emma stared at him, dumbfounded as the attendant turned to prepare their food.

"I was supposed to pay," she protested.

Brian shook his head, "Don't worry about it."

"But --"

"Em, shhh," Brian cut her off.

The fact of the matter was, Brian wanted to pay because in his old-fashioned views... that made this a date. And that scared the bejesus out of him that in the split second it'd taken him to grab his wallet out and pay, he'd wanted it to be a date. And now... well, now... after having made it a date, the guilty feelings were rushing in on him and he could feel his heart thrashing around, trying to make sense of everything.

Their sundaes were up and they each grabbed their cup of ice cream and a spoon and walked further into the barn, the music getting louder the further back they wandered. The band was set up on a stage-like apparatus in the back of the barn and in front of them was a group of dancing people who were two-stepping about like it was a sock hop out of the 1950s, or American Bandstand or something. Brian hovered by the edge of this, eating his ice cream, watching and smiling.

Emma stood beside him, eating hers, too. "Is this what it's like at a Backstreet Boys show?" she asked.

Brian laughed, "Uhhh," he shook his head, "Not at all."

Emma laughed, too. "It must be amazing," she said.

He nodded. "Yeah, it was."

"Was?"

A long pause followed Emma repeating that word as Brian concentrated fully on his ice cream. In the back of his mind, he imagined the expression on Nick's face as he'd begged Brian to come to Los Angeles and tape some new BSB stuff... and the way it'd fallen when Brian had said no.

"I can't sing anymore," Brian answered quietly. He stuffed a large, sticky scoop of ice cream into his mouth to avoid explaining further.

Emma felt aghast. She looked at him in shock. "What? Why?"

Brian swallowed. He took a deep breath. He fidgeted.

"Brian?" she reached out a hand and with fingers cold from touching the cup, she touched his arm.

"Because -" he felt a lump rise in his throat, "I miss my wife." His Kentucky accent was thicker than thick, and he stared downward at his feet.

The band reached the end of a song at that exact moment when he'd spoke and their sudden silence was punctured by the crowd of dancers clapping, whistling and shouting praises for the band. Brian turned and tossed his mostly-empty ice cream cup into the trash barrell, basketball style. He turned to her. She was looking at him, stunned like she'd just been slapped in the face and he felt even more guilty. He gnawed his lower lip. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You can't stop singing," Emma protested.

Brian couldn't reply.

The band started playing again, and life around them kept moving.