Page 41 of Since the Day We Kissed

“In, two, three, four ...” he whispered, inhaling. He held the breath, counting silently to seven. Then, “Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” as he exhaled slowly.

Several deep breaths later, the tremors in Ethan’s hands had eased enough for him to collect his groceries, paper bags crinkling as he reached the front door, unlocking it.

Ethan stumbled inside, greeted by Hero sprawled on the living room rug. Hero sprang up and walked over to him, following him to the kitchen.

On the counter, Ethan grabbed his bottle of meds, opened it, and took out a pill. Then he filled a glass at the sink and swallowed. Glancing down at the bottle, he realized he was down to his last couple of pills.

Ethan frowned, recalling his last conversation with Dr. Hartman.

When did she say the refill would be ready?

Ethan placed the bottle back on the counter, positioning it prominently so he wouldn’t forget. He even set a reminder on his phone, just in case. For now, though, he needed to put away the groceries.

Leaning against the counter, Ethan smiled as Hero padded over, tail wagging. “Hey, buddy,” Ethan said, reaching out to scratch behind Hero’s ears. “How’d you do while I was gone? Kept the house safe for me?”

Hero barked, pressing his head into Ethan’s hand.

Ethan chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Now, how about we get these groceries put away, and maybe we can go for a walk?”

At the word ‘walk,’ Hero’s ears perked, and he barked again.

“All right, all right,” Ethan grinned. “Let’s take care of business first.”

When Ethan began unpacking the grocery bags, Hero trotted after him, nose twitching with interest at the various scents. Then as Ethan reached for a can of dog food, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

“Mr. Clark,” he muttered, recognizing the attorney’s number.

With a deep breath, he answered the call. “Hey, Mr. Clark.”

“Ethan, good to catch you. I’m calling to check on your progress.”

“The deed, right. Look, I’ve been—” Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been a lot. I sorted through some mail, but that’s about it. This weekend was—complicated. I just got back actually.”

Ethan watched as Hero trotted to the doggy door and slipped outside.

“This deed is crucial. Without it, the house can’t be sold. And if I recall correctly, you were quite insistent on a quick sale. Yes?”

Ethan blinked, snapping back to the call. “I get it, Mr. Clark, I do. Trust me, I want out of here as soon as possible. I’ll find the deed, even if I have to tear this place apart today.”

It had been seven hours, and still, the deed was nowhere to be found, despite Ethan’s best efforts in turning the small house upside down. At first, he was methodical; then, with increasing desperation as the deed continued to elude him, reckless.

Hero followed closely behind, sniffing curiously at the now-scattered items.

He’d started in the living room, upending the old couch cushions and checking behind the familiar framed photos on the walls. The kitchen had been next—every cabinet emptied, even the freezer searched on the off chance his dad had stashed it there one drunken night.

The bathroom yielded nothing but the same old medicine cabinet contents and the sink that had always dripped. In his bedroom, Ethan yanked the faded blue comforter from the bed, rifled through every pocket of the clothes still hanging in the pine wardrobe, and crawled under the creaky twin bed he’d outgrown years ago, emerging with cobwebs in his hair that he combed out with his fingers. He sifted through stacks of old newspapers and books that had accumulated over decades, and even searched inside the TV he and his dad used to watch ballgames, half-convinced his dad could’ve hollowed it out as a secret hiding spot.

Hero grabbed at the loose papers, thinking Ethan was playing a game. Ethan gently shooed him away. “Not now, boy.”

Standing in the hallway, amid the chaos of his search, Ethan crossed his arms and kicked an empty cardboard box aside. The house was a mess, every surface covered in displaced items. Clutter filled the corners, a lifetime’s accumulation of possessions strewn about—old tools from his dad’s workdays, clothes Ethan had long outgrown, and knick-knacks collected over years of tight budgets and simple living.

On the way to the kitchen, Ethan froze. There was one place he hadn’t checked.

Dad’s closet.

With fresh resolve, he strode to the master bedroom. The closet door groaned on its hinges as he pulled it open, revealing a jumble of clothes and boxes. As he searched, his hand brushed against something he knew well, like an old song—his dad’s Marine dress blues. The crisp fabric and polished buttons shone even in the dim light. He reached out, running his fingers along the sleeve of the dress coat.

A memory flashed—six-year-old Ethan, standing before the mirror, drowning in his dad’s uniform coat. The sleeves hanging well past his hands, the hem nearly touching the floor, his dad’s warm laughter filling the room.

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