Page 18 of Secrets That Bind Us
She nods before turning away from me and going back to my collection of albums. “Okay.”
“The electricity is running now, so you should probably make sure the boom box still works.”
Another nod, and she grabs a random CD and the handle of my old blue Magnavox– the one I purchased with my tutoring money. But instead of heading down like I thought she would, she stands in the center of the attic, looking at items like she’s in a shop. Then she goes to a shelf, her slender arm outstretched and pulls down an old yearbook:Class of 2009.
Puckered lips blow dust off the old thing. Sav sits, unbothered, to look at it. Her nimble little fingers– fingers I made– delicately open it, and I hold in my cringe. She huffs out a laugh after a few pages. “Most likely to befamous…Never heard ofTiffany Myers,so I guess they got that wrong. Or…Dean Carson.”I wither a little. A few more flips and she gasps. “You played softball?”
I chuckle with a nod and make my way to the vinyls, flipping through my mother’s treasure trove. Other than my portrait in that damn yearbook, I’m only listed in there for softball. And then I hear… “Dad.”
And I’m so glad Noah is getting slushies with Zo. Sav’s voice is tiny, as she gobbles up every page he’s in. Football, track, baseball, his art, photography… Micah’s everywhere. So is Dean. “That Dean guy is in all these pictures with Dad. He’s even Prom King. Why aren’t you in here much?"
I shake my head a little. “I… didn’t have a great high school experience. I spent most of my time tutoring or reading and writing. Plus, you know, by the time my senior prom came around I was already in New York.”
“Big surprise.” She replies unimpressed. Even though she’s my kid, she sounds liketheydid a long time ago. I can almost hear the ‘fucking nerd’ silently roll off her tongue. Can’t say it doesn’t sting a little. But I did what I had to do. She snaps the yearbook closed. “Can I keep these?”
And I know it’s not because they have me in there. It’s because of Micah. But a part of me wonders if she’ll be able to put pieces together. I almost say no. But she deserves to be able to look through some ratty books and get to know the man she knew as her father. Guilt weighs heavily on me as I go through a quick pros and cons list in my mind.
“Sure.” I say before I can regret it. “Get a box from downstairs so we can separate what you want to keep from what we can throw out. They’re gonna get started on the second floor tomorrow, move down to the first afterward, so we can move in. They’ll be working on the basement every now and then. But it’ll be livable, so we don’t have to stay in the hotel anymore.”
“Yeah, okay. Cool.” I hear the patter of her light footsteps as she heads down the attic stairs. The attic will soon be cut in half so she can have a little nook up here like I always wanted. The way Daddy always promised. It’s crazy how often we tend to heal our inner child without realizing it– by doing the things we wanted for ourselves, for our children. My nook now is just an office. But it’s my office. Tailor-made for me. No reminders of Micah. It’s almost enough to stay in Adelaide.
I’m still sifting through the box of vinyls when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Movement that grows a little, flows a little– too far to take shape, but still, it’s there- forming. Chills run down my spine as I freeze, ignoring the drop in temperature and the small puffs of fog my breath is causing. My body is all too hyperaware. I inhale deeply, counting to five and blow out, counting to five. And again.
The slamming of the front door downstairs makes me jump and I turn to face the…nothing. The attic is empty. I exhale with a laugh, tension leaving my body.
“Mooommmmmyyyyyy!”Noah calls from downstairs, and I smile.
“Hey! Pink Drink! I got your watermelon-strawberry slush, burgers too! Come on, Blue!” Zoey calls out to us from downstairs.
I hear a “Coming!” from Savannah.
I take two of the numerous boxes of vinyls down carefully and greet my best friend and my son, who always smiles when he sees me. Twin chocolate eyes, like my mama’s, gaze up at me, and I forget all about the shadow upstairs, the feeling of being watched. I grin back at the little boy, the girl, and the best friend that give my life meaning. That keep me going.
Chapter Ten
Dean
Present Day
The pounding in my head matches the pounding on my front door. Bear, my boxer-pit mix, isn’t helping with his barking. It’s been six weeks since I saw Verity coming out of her mother’s house. Three weeks since I saw her standing outside The Olde Café with Zoey and Emory. And two days since I followed her around the furniture shop in the newer parts of town, keeping my distance, just watching her.
My heart ached when she seemed to feel my presence looming over her, turning back, but I’d hide behind a pillar or bookshelf. I’m almost thirty-three years old, hiding behind pillars like a boy with a crush. Except now I’m a man, still crushing on– and in love with– her, dying to get to know this new version of her.
She’s even more beautiful now. She had her hair down and loose around her shoulders, wearing a tank top and mom shorts. Her hips flare out even more now, rounder, probably from having kids. I love them. Her smile is devastating. When she smiled at the clerk to put in her order, I grew angry, jealous she was smiling at the kid. But I let it go, ‘cause it wasn’t my smile– the one she reserved just for me. Also, the damn kid couldn’t be more than seventeen.
God, she made my heart ache. Every time I thought about just casually bumping into her, it seemed the old church hens made it to her first. By the time I grew the balls to finally approach her, she was walking out. She turned when someone called her name, and I swear she saw me, because she ducked and ran out to her SUV.
“I’m coming!” I gripe at the person knocking on my door at– I look at my watch– not even eight on a Saturday morning. Bear growls as soon as I open the door, my mood further souring at who’s on the other side. “What?”
“So you are alive.” Lacy retorts, sucking deeply on a cigarette, the tip of it glowing orange.
I roll my eyes. Goddammit. “Look, Lace-“
She scoffs, rolls her blue eyes, and flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Don’t bother. This is it, huh? String me along for the last year, but she’s here now. She’s back, so I’m irrelevant. Not even a text? Just ghosted me.”
“Stringing you along? It’sbeentwoyears. We both knew what it was. I never said I wanted anything other than stress relief and you agreed. You did your part, I did mine. Go home, Lace. It’sbeen two years.” I reiterate so she makes sure how pathetic that is. “And quit talking to people about me. We had sextwice. Two years ago.” When she opens her mouth to argue, I end it with “It’s pretty fucking pathetic for you to still be sniffing around.”
One drunken night. One drunken night turned into two, where I sporadically fucked her over the span of six months after drinking too much. It wasn’t a relationship. It was fucking. In the back of the building by the fucking dumpster – both times. It meant absolutely nothing. That was it. I didn’t seek her out. I didn’t ask to meet up. I sure as hell didn’t tell her I wanted more. She never came over. I never went to her place. She was just there – a warm hole to sink into behind a building by a dumpster. All because she didn’t have brown hair to tangle in my fingers, or caramel eyes, or thick, wide hips for me to grab onto.
