Page 72 of Easy Reunion
“Be careful,” she warns me. “Don’t bump it into anything.”
A fissure of awareness goes through me like a bolt of lightning. “Okay.”
She darts ahead of me. “Let me get the door.”
I follow behind her at a slower pace, careful not to jostle the package on the railing. I brush up against her as I pass her by, causing her breath to catch. The combustible burn that we sated only the night before is already reaching up between us, demanding to be satisfied again. “Where do you want me to put this down?” My voice comes out huskily.
Kelsey doesn’t respond at first. When I look over to see what she’s doing, she’s rooting around in her purse for something. Triumphantly, she holds a bag of Sharpies aloft. “I need to borrow your desk if that’s okay?” Her face takes on an anxious cast.
Mutely, I nod, before picking up what I’ve deduced is a frame and following her.
Entering the sanctuary of my study, I kick the door shut behind me. Kelsey sets the bag down in the center of my desk with a little laugh. “You’re rough on doors.”
I shrug before setting the frame down on the sofa and making my way over to her. She’s leaning against my desk, her fingers clasped in front of her. Her posture is filled with anxiety. “What is it, Kels?”
“I wanted you to know what last night—no, yesterday—meant to me. And there was only one way I knew to do that.” Closing her eyes briefly, she fights an internal war with herself before she reaches into the bag. “When I was looking around yesterday before I had my breakdown…” The look she shoots me is full of sad acknowledgment that her own perception drove her understanding of the situation. “I realized you were missing something on your shelves.”
My heart begins to pump in my chest as she pulls out the first book. She caresses the cover. “Angel could never understand why I wrote the dedication the way I did. I guess deep down, I always knew.” She hands me a copy ofBetrayal, and I clutch it tightly.
Once again, Kelsey’s giving me her words. The significance isn’t lost on me. I open my mouth to thank her, but before I can, she shatters me by reciting the words aloud without opening the cover.
“The truth about betrayals is that they happen for a reason. Sooner or later, you’ll understand the reason behind them. So, this book is dedicated to Angel and Ry. May you each find the moment of happiness that gives you the strength to conquer any harm thrown at you, much as the lessons you taught me did.”
I can’t stop the tears falling down my face. Even when she thought I’d betrayed her, believing I’d deliberately left her broken, she still rose above it to give her heart to the millions of children who needed her compassion.
A crooked smile crosses her face as she wipes the tears from her face. “They’re all here. All the Pilar Martell series.”
Flinging the book over the package to land safely on the couch, I rush her. I bury my head into her shoulder and breathe in the light floral scent of her perfume.
We stand together, holding each other and letting the hurts of the past go, allowing our hearts to heal.
I don’t know how many minutes go by before Kelsey draws back. Pressing a kiss to the underside of my chin, she whispers, “Go open the package, Ry.”
I don’t want to move out of her arms, but I sense the importance of this to her. Her heart is pounding against mine furiously. Sliding an arm around her waist, I tug her along with me as we make our way to the sofa. Spotting the book I tossed there, I tease, “Are you going to sign them?”
Her peaceful face morphs into one of humor. “I’ll sign them now. When you read them, I’ll leave your inscription in them.”
Fair enough. Carefully placing the book on the side table, I sit down, pulling Kelsey down close next to me. I lift the package on my lap. “So, it’s a frame.”
She hauls off and punches me in the arm. “Are you going to be like this around your birthday? Christmas? Speaking of which, when is your birthday?”
“August tenth,” I tell her, my mouth dry. Because what she just said implied she planned on being around for both of those events. “Yours?”
“December fifteenth.” I make a mental note to spoil the living crap out of her starting around Thanksgiving for the entire month as I tear into the paper holding the frame.
And then every thought leaves my head except one.
“Where did you get this?” I trace over the black-and-white photo of Kelsey and me studying in Professor Wiley’s class. A picture I never knew existed but one she obviously did. But as soon as I see it, I’m transported back to that moment. We’d just been laughing over my high-pitched imitation of my mother scolding Lisa breaking curfew. Kelsey was trying to tell me that kind of humor was what that week’s creative writing assignment lacked. Someone captured us with our heads tilted toward one another, laughing. Even as overweight as she was, her cheeks were flushed and her smile was dazzling. And mine… I squint harder, looking at myself. I was holding a piece of Kelsey’s dark hair back so I could grin down into her face. My heart stutters; I looked much like I probably do when I look at her now.
“Professor Wiley contacted my publisher a few years ago after I dedicated a book to her,” she responds quietly. “President Adams was hoping I’d come back to speak at Forsyth at a graduation ceremony.” My head whirls around in shock at the audacity. She shrugs as if it’s something she’s had to deal with a million times since her writing made her a household name. Angrily, I realize it likely has. “Even though I declined, we’ve kept up a correspondence. She sent me this photo and a few more.” Her fingertips trace the masculine filigree along the frame’s edge. Her face tips up with a small smile. “I see the picture shocked you from reading the plaques beneath it.”
In confusion, I scan the frame again searching to find…
Oh. My. God.
Side by side are two carefully stamped plaques. Beneath Kelsey’s image are the words she wrote so long ago: “The worst thing that’s happening to you is the best thing that will ever happen to someone else. All you can do is move past it. After all, if life were meant to be easy, I’d have already won the game.” But what has me frozen in shock are the ones next to it. Words I’d completely forgotten about, but the woman next to me hadn’t. My heart pounding, I read aloud, “In the cool blue of the water, nothing can touch us here. Not pain or shame, not hate, nor fear. All that can be felt is comfort and confidence.” I gape at her.
Her trembling hand rests on mine. “You left a part of yourself behind with me as well, Ry. A big part.”
