Page 64 of Barefoot Dreams
Don’t. Do not reach down for it, Griffin.
But it’s as if my hands have a mind of their own. One that’s connected to my hammering heart and is desperate to know it all. Crouching down next to it, I carefully bring my fingers to it, tracing over the lines on the paper. They are deep and bold and sure. Each letter carefully written in beautiful, cursive font.
The same font she still uses to write the names on the to-go cups in her shop. The same font I’ve been mesmerized with for most of my life.
When did she write this?
Why?
What does it mean?
What do you think it means, you idiot?
I don’t remember sitting down, but I am, my feet on the floor in front of me as I rest my hands on my knees and my eyes are locked on the mess in front of me.
The mess of memories, secrets, and honesty. The beautiful mess that is Julie Birdy Lovinski.
Owling…my mind automatically corrects itself when my eyes land on that same page again. Owling.
I can’t, I can’t touch them, I can’t betray her trust like that.
I swallow hard.
I’ll just check the date, I’m just curious to see when did she write this and how come I missed it.
Screw it, I can ponder over my actions and how wrong they are later, after I know the truth. And without thinking too much I grab the journal, flipping to the front and see the date and do the mental count.
Nine years old. Julie was nine years old when she wrote this?
On autopilot, my fingers slip under the first page and I flip it, finding the first entry.
Dear Diary,
I was hoping the other journal would last me through the year, but nope! I guess I had too much to say already, and we are not even halfway through the year.
I know, I know, I could’ve made less doodles about me and Griffin, but I like them. So, be prepared! I’ll make new ones here as well.
The entry goes on, but my mind catches on one thing. This is not the first journal.
I’m on my feet instantly, shuffling through the diaries and next thing I know, I’m gulping down each entry like a man starved. I read the first time she saw me as her hero, when I stoppedOwen from bullying her, and I almost break down in hysterical laughter.
Funny how that didn’t help now.
I read through her plans for our marriage and the list of names she put together to name our kids. My mind in such overdrive that I wouldn’t even mind to name them Kale, Ossian, Moss, and Meadow right now. I’m flipping page over page that is filled with hearts and our initials. It’s filled with hopes and dreams.
Jesus Christ! How did I miss it all?
And then another thought hits me like a bucket of freezing water.
Years…I could’ve had years with her already. Decades!
I shut that diary and pick up another one at random, needing more and more and more. I have no clue for how long I’ve sat here, reading every word and memory. Taking it all in until there’s nothing but one last diary left from the spilled box.
Maybe there’s more somewhere?
But I decide to finish with these before I go searching for the others. I open it up and note it’s from years later than what I’ve been reading. Yeah, there’s definitely more somewhere here but I still open this one, feeling a strange tug in my chest and a moment later, I understand why.
Because the words on this page make my blood run cold.
