Page 39 of Keepsake

“The way I see it, man, Austin is eighteen now. He’s definitely a better eighteen-year-old than I was. I’m not perfect, so I’m sure I fucked up some along the way. But he’s a better man than me, so that must count for something.”

I grunted and had a drink of water instead of replying. The kids had already had too much trauma. Sofia was a good mother. I knew that in my bones, but the children’s dad was a piece of shit.

David Murphy. All I cared to learn about him was that he was the same age as Sofia, so as much as I wanted to kill him when she got pregnant, I couldn’t murder a kid.

Their relationship wasn’t a fairytale, but I didn’t expect much coming from the way they started. Sofia never married him, but they had lived together since she was eighteen.

When Sofia left David, I didn’t think much of it. People separate all the time.

Not until she killed herself. Not until it was too late. I never stopped to ask if my sister was ever happy.

My family pressured Sofia to be with David because she was pregnant. Logan was the rich kid who, according to Mamá, never learned how to deal with the consequences of her actions. So when everything happened, Logan was called privileged to even suggest that maybe Sofia shouldn’t be with the kids’ dad. At the time, it didn’t matter. It was just a comment here and there and I didn’t pay much attention. Now? I grasped on to all the information I missed more than fifteen years ago.

Whatever people thought about Logan, she knew Sofia better than I did. She knew David better than any of us. And she was important because Sofia didn’t leave with much of a goodbye, but the demand for the kids to go to Logan.

Mamá chose to be offended, thinking Logan was chosen because of money. Sure, money brought possibilities. It was true. The kids had their future laid in front of them because of Logan’s wealth. But my skin felt tight on my bones, my ear itching, letting me know I was missing something.

Maybe all those questions could be answered in the letter Sofia left Logan. Mamá refused to let any of us read it.

Yeah, the kids weren’t in the same place as Dustin’s kid. Sofia’s kids carried the trauma of too many adults. All of our mistakes.

“You can bring them to a child psychiatrist.”

“Huh?” I asked, distracted.

Dustin wiped his mouth with a napkin. “If you’re so worried. You can bring them for an evaluation.”

I cringed. “They’ll think we think they are crazy.”

Dustin chuckled. “Or you can work on your internalized problems in therapy before bringing them to it.”

I sighed, leaning over with my elbows on the table between us. “Who is she?”

“Huh?” It was his turn to not hear me. Expected, I was sure he heard me fine.

“Who is the nice piece of ass who taught you all these terms, Dustin? Because I might believe you’re a fan of therapy, but it is really hard to believe you became Freud for anything less than a piece of ass.”

“You wound me,” he replied.

I waited.

“Delilah,” he breathed out. “She’s doing her masters. Man, she’s fine. Smart… and her ass?” He whistled. “I’m telling you it is worth it to learn all these—”

I stood up. “You’re a tool.”

Takingthewrongturn,I cursed as I drove away from the site. I was still not used to Logan’s penthouse. I’ve lived in my corner of Chicago since I left my parents. It was where my business was, my small apartment and the gym I used to go to everyday before I was responsible for the emotional state of three children.

I rolled my shoulders back, adjusting my route. I needed a routine in my new life. I needed to work out like I used to do. My old gym was too far, but I could use hers.

She converted a bedroom into a gym and while it didn’t have all the equipment, it was enough for me to create some kind of normalcy. Wake up, work out, bring the kids to school and head to work. That could be my new normal.

By the time I arrived at the penthouse and parked on the other side of the street, I felt foolish. What was the point of holding back?

I was here. I was involved. It didn’t matter if my truck was across the road or in the parking spot.

My life wasn’t going back to what it was because I refused to accept I lived in this place.

Breathing out, I pushed the button for the elevator, still surprised each time the doorman smiled his good evening instead of asking me what I was doing going up to the penthouse.

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