Page 146 of The Keeper

Once we ventured into the topics of architecture and renovations, I couldn’t get him to stop talking.

“…with a brick wall on one side and the original exposed beams in the ceiling,” Xavier concluded with an animated smile. “I’ve been working on this house since last September. It’s a bigger project than what I normally do but it really needed the work.”

He paused, regarding me cautiously.

“There’s something so satisfying about rebuilding something from the inside out. Maybe satisfying isn’t the right word.” He thought for a second. “Fulfilling. It’s taking something that’s beautiful but broken and making it whole again.”

The way he looked at me with such affection and desire left me utterly debilitated. I wanted to freeze this moment, complete with the contradictory image of us sitting on a cement floor surrounded by my dead sister’s belongings.

Beautiful but broken.

He flipped through a worn out notebook and paused. “What are these?” he asked, holding it up.

Sketches of feathers and flames filled the pages.

“Oh. Um, those were some drawings I made. Some ideas I had for my tattoo.”

“Twin phoenix feathers in flames,” he said softly. “For your sister?”

“Yeah. A phoenix always rises from the ashes. I thought the fiery feathers would be a beautiful tribute.”

“You designed it yourself?”

“I did. I can’t draw very well but thankfully I found a tattoo artist who really understood what I wanted.”

He looked down at the drawings and asked, “Did you get it done here in New York?”

“No, I actually went to Boston. I was in college at the time. There weren’t many tattoo artists near campus so I drove two hours away to get it done.”

“Dedication,” he smirked. “I like it.”

“It’s kind of in the middle of nowhere,” I laughed.

“I know. I looked it up.”

I stopped rummaging through the bin. “You did?”

“Mmhmm. Sort of surprised me you decided to go to university in such a rural place.”

“Me too,” I admitted. “I had my sights set on California. But, you know, best laid plans and all that.”

Another veil of reflective silence fell over us. This one lasted longer than I expected.

I pushed the bin I’d been looking through away, dragged another box closer and opened it. My heart stilled. Piles of photo albums filled it. Photos and memories from a life I barely recognized but remembered so vividly. Some pictures lay scattered among the albums. One in particular brought me to tears.

Charlotte and I standing in the backyard of our beach home with red, white, and blue balloons. We each wore sundresses. Mine was blue, hers red.

I held it, brushing my thumb over our identical smiling faces. We looked so damn happy. How did it all go so terribly wrong?

“Mind if I join you?” Xavier’s hesitant question broke the silence.

I nodded. He sat next to me, resting his head on my shoulder. “When is this from?”

“Our sixteenth birthday.”

“It’s on the 4th of July?”

“All the red, white, and blue give it away?”

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