Page 95 of Traces Of You
“What’s that?”
“Open it,” he said.
She pulled the box closer. It was a jewelry box.
When she flipped the top, there was a gold necklace with a heart charm. There looked to be a tiny diamond in the center.
“This is so pretty.”
“It’s a locket,” he said. “Look inside.”
She used the corner of her thumbnail to pry it apart. “Oh my. Are those our class pictures?”
There was twelve-year-old cocky Ford smiling in the same blue background everyone had.
They took her picture like everyone else’s, but her mother never bought them. She didn’t have a yearbook either, but she knew that was the picture that was put in it.
“They are,” he said. “I bought two yearbooks and cut that picture out of the second one. I was going to give this to you at the end of the school year, but you were gone.”
She’d left right after the last exam.
Reenie never had a chance to say goodbye to Ford in person. She could have called him, but hadn’t.
Her mother would have known there was someone in her life when she’d gone to great lengths to hide that fact. It worked for her that her mother wasn’t around much, allowing her to be with Ford.
If her mother had thought she was getting close to anyone, they would have moved sooner.
“You’ve kept it all these years?”
“I have. I’m giving it to you now.”
She pulled it out of the box and put it on, the gold feeling warm in her palm as she pulled it forward to look again. She’d owned nothing of value before. Norealjewelry.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you. I would have loved it back then. I would have treasured it.”
After she had hidden it from her mother.
It was probably best she wasn’t given it prior.
Though she would have cherished it for years. A stronger reminder of what she’d had once in her life.
What she was building again.
Reenie stood up and moved closer to him, then sat in his lap.
His arms came around her, held her close, her head on his shoulder.
She felt so loved in this moment but knew neither of them could say the words.
At least she couldn’t. It’d hurt too much to hear any rejection from him. Worse yet, silence.
“You’ve got it now,” he said. “A reminder I’m always here and always will be.”
She kissed his neck and sniffled some, his hand rubbing up and down her back.
She’d cried enough in front of him and didn’t want to now.
But not wanting something and being able to stop it were two different things.
