Page 70 of Demise

My hand covers my gaping mouth. Photos in no particular pattern hang on the walls. Photos of us, of me, of everything he hung way back when, but now they’re in beautiful black frames. My vision blurs.

I look over every picture, running my fingers across the edge of the frames. God, how young we were. I reach out, touching the photo of the frozen lake. Frozen, just like it is now.

“I couldn’t throw them away,” he says. I look at him. “I thought about it, but I always loved your photos, and then, of course, the ones of us together… I just couldn’t toss them.”

“So, you had them framed and hung them in your home?”

“Ourhome, love. This was always our home.”

My heart breaks just a little bit more. Just another piece falls off and feathers down into the pit of my stomach. All this time, all these years, I was married to someone else. Sharing a life with another man. His brother. And what? He was here. Working on this beautiful house? Surrounded by memories of us.

It’s too much. It’s too depressing and heartbreaking, and I hate how much it hurts to know this.

I sniff. “I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.” I stride down the hall, into the bedroom, and shut the bathroom door behind me. Placing my face in my hands, I try to control the emotion escaping me. How hard this must have been for him. To be here, working on this home, with thoughts of me everywhere, knowing I was living another life.

Exhaling, I open the cabinet, looking for a washcloth. I’m once again floored. My things.

All the things he bought me for Christmas the year we spent here. They’re all still here. The blow dryer, the Bath and Body works lotions and soaps. Oh my God. Love Spell.I reach down and grab it. Popping the top open, I inhale.

“Come on,” he says, breaking the spell he has me under. “I know you’ll be with your uncle tomorrow for Christmas, so I figured we’d have our own here.”

“You know you’re invited over,” I tell him.

“I’ll come over,” he says simply. I smile because that really makes me happy.

I hold onto his upper arm as we head inside. My eyes widen when I look at the Christmas tree filled with small gifts under it.

“Danny,” I say, looking up at him. “What is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says, biting his inner cheek. “Although, I may have gone a little overboard.”

“Ya think?” I reply, releasing his arm so I can walk over and look. “I don’t have you anything. Well, I do, but it’s at my house.”

“You didn’t have to buy anything for me.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m fucking glad I did.” I look back at the pretty wrapped gifts. “You hire someone?” I ask with a smirk.

He lifts his shoulder, walking to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of champagne. “Let’s have a drink or two, and then you can open all of your presents.”

I exhale. “I don’t feel right about this. What am I going to tell my uncle?”

“Nothing. This stuff is for you here.”

“What? For me here?”

“Yeah, so you have some shit. Maybe, every once in a while, you can tell your uncle you’re staying at a friend’s house and stay here instead?”

“Danny,” I say gently. “I’m only sixteen. We can’t pretend live together.”

His brow furrows. “Who said anything about living together? I just mean when you want to wash your hair, you can blow dry it or whatever. There’re some gift cards for clothes and whatever else you want to buy. I got you some jewelry, too, and Bath and Body Works shit.”

“You picked all this out?” I ask suspiciously.

He lowers his head. “I may have gotten some help.”

I cross my arms. “From whom?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it.” He pops the top on the champagne, and I laugh when it flies across the room and some shoots out the top.

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