Page 90 of The Soul Never Forgets

Dawsey leans toward me and presses a featherlight kiss against my lips. “I’d do anything to make you happy. I hope you know that.”

“I know.”

We enter the house and that familiar, bone-deep déjà vu vibrates throughout my body. Every cell in my body is alive and humming with recollection, the hairs on my arms standing on end.

Dawsey places his hand on top of my arm and rubs it.

“I know. I feel it too,” he says, his voice low.

The realtor begins her spiel. “As you can see, the house hasn’t been updated in decades, but it’s solid with good bones. And you can’t beat the view.”

“They don’t build ’em like this anymore,” I say.

“No, they don’t, and very few people appreciate the craftsmanship in a home like this. They want all the modern amenities, which I understand, but a house like this can be made beautiful again.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The realtor’s phone rings. “I’m so sorry. I really need to take this call. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Take your time. We’ll look around.”

Dawsey takes my hand in his and pulls me close. He places a palm against my lower back and leads me in a waltz, our feet falling into an old and familiar movement as though our muscles still remember the movements. “It’s been decades since we did this. I can almost hear ‘There! I've Said It Again’ by Vaughn Monroe playing on the record player.”

“How many times did we dance to that song in this very spot?”

“Enough to wear off the finish on the wood floor.” We both look down at the same time. “Well, would you look at that? There’s still a worn place.”

“The floors haven’t been replaced.” And they won’t be if I have any say about it.

I lift my chin, gesturing to the floor above. “Let’s go up before the realtor comes back in.”

Dawsey leads me up the staircase and into the last bedroom on the right, the one Frank and Augustina shared.

“Oh boy. If these four walls could talk.” So much love shared in this room.

“They saw a lot. They’d have some stories to tell,” he says.

“Two of the four Harrison children were born in this very room.” I still remember the way it felt to push those babies out. All of them.

Dawsey waggles his brows at me. “Two of their four children were made in this room. We could make our own babies in here.”

“It’s just like you to point that out.”

“I can’t help it. Being here makes me feel like Frank again. And Frank liked making babies.”

“I know. I feel like Augustina again… who was very open to Frank’s fondness for baby-making.”

This familiarity is nice. It’s been too long since I felt this close to Frank and Augustina.

“Bits and pieces of the past are flashing in my mind. I see Gussy sitting on a stool in front of an antique vanity dresser. She’s wearing a white nightgown, brushing her hair.”

“I see Frank sitting in bed, pillows stacked behind his back. He’s watching her go through her nightly routine before bed.”

“Are we remembering the same night at the same time?” he asks.

Is it possible? “I think our memories could be in unison but from different points of view.”

“What’s happening now?” he asks.

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