Page 7 of Curvy Girl Summer

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, it was.”

Aniyah and I loved that yacht. So many amazing memories took place on that thing. We were on it all the time growing up, and we had fun. But once Uncle Al gave it to her, it became more special to us. As adults, we’d drive to the ocean, where it was docked, and then spend the day catching up and discussing life. We left all our secrets out there on the water.

Those moments were the ones I’d miss most.

“I’ll let you get back to… what you were doing,” Marcus stated, putting his arms behind his back. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“What is it that you think I was doing?”

“Talking to your sister.”

My lips parted, and I froze.How did he know that?

I was shocked and couldn’t bring myself to ask. So, I just stared at him.

I heard the people coming into the house. I heard voices yelling out for my parents. I heard my father and then my mother, but all of it was background noise as I stared at Marcus.

“How?” That was the only part of the question I managed to get out.

“A friend of mine died overseas a few years ago,” he answered succinctly.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sorry for your loss.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry for yours, too.”

Nodding, I gave him a tight smile. “Thanks.”

“When I find myself thinking about him, I start having conversations with him in my head. So, when I saw you staring, and the way you were staring, I knew you were having a conversation or lost in a memory.”

“It was a conversation of sorts,” I admitted slowly, unsure of why I was sharing this with the stranger.

“Staring at a picture just makes me see missed opportunities and experiences we’d never get again.”

“I get that,” I told him. “I used to feel like that. I used to get really sad when I looked at her pictures. But I realized that as long as I have her in here”—I pointed to my heart—“Aniyah isn’t gone. She just isn’t here.”

“That’s deep.” He was quiet for at least a minute. “I never thought about it like that. But that’s deep.”

Therapy. Lots of therapy.

After another moment of silence, the doorbell almost drowned out his next question. “How did your sister die?”

Grimacing, I shook my head.

I hated that question. Partially because I hated thinking about it. Partially because the wounds within the family were still raw. But mostly because it didn’t acknowledge how she was still here. It made her physical demise seem like the end of her.

I knew people didn’t mean any harm when they asked, so I took a deep breath.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said gently. “I don’t like to talk about how Keyshawn died either. I was just curious because she looks so young.”

“She had a heart condition,” I answered. “How did Keyshawn die?”

He cleared his throat. “He was shot.”

“In the line of duty?”

He shook his head. “It was a non-combat-related death. He, uh… he was sleeping with a married woman, and her husband shot him.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Oh, wow.”

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