Page 58 of Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

Walking into the bedroom, I appreciate the way the sunlight streaming in from the opened window kisses his bronzed skin. “You keep a journal?” I ask, jutting my chin out towards the book in his lap.

He grins, running his left hand though his hair, pen entwined in his fingers. “I could pretend I was doing Sudoku, but you got me.”

I laugh. “I keep a journal, too. I have since I learned how to read and write.”

He whistles. “That’s a lot of words.” Closing the black leather book, he places it on the side dresser. “Do you still write in it?”

Stepping forward, I run my fingers through Thunder’s fur. “Not lately,” I confess. “Those entries are ones I don’t wish to remember.”

I sound completely pathetic, but it’s the truth.

Saxon weighs up my response. “No matter how bad your memories, it’s still your history. It’s your legacy. You should write it down. This way, you can always look back and remember that you survived. You lived.” He sits up tall. “Life isn’t all about happiness and good fortune. In most circumstances, it’s the shitty memories that emphasize the good. Makes you appreciate what you have, and stops you from taking anything for granted.”

“Wow.” I smile, standing on tippy toes to look at the journal. “Are you sure that’s not a philosophy book?”

He grins.

Jokes aside, he’s right. I’ve been frightened to write in my diary because I don’t want to document this time in my life. But Saxon has a point. Sometimes, you’ve got to experience the bad in order to appreciate the good. Like right now.

“So, am I in your diary?” I tease. When his face falls, I know the answer is yes. Just how he’s in mine.

Reaching for a discarded t-shirt which lays by his side, he slips it over his head. “We better go. We wouldn’t want to ruin Kellie’s spectacular dinner plans.”

Although he’s being sarcastic, he’s right.

I’ve been holed up in my room for the afternoon as Kellie insisted she cooked, hinting she didn’t need any help. Sam seemed content talking to his father, catching up on lost time and memories. I only seemed to be the third wheel as he sat with his back to me, asking his father questions which he could have asked me. Once it was made more than obvious that Saxon and I weren’t welcome to join the Stone family reunion, we crept off to our rooms like outcasts, booted off Happiness Island. I now understand how Saxon felt all these years. No wonder he left.

We stroll down the hallway, in no hurry to get there fast.

“I’m sorry, Saxon.”

“You’re sorry?” He curls his lip, confused.

I nod.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t realize how much of an outsider you were within your own home. I was so…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Infatuated with Sam, I didn’t see it. But now, things are becoming clearer.”

Just as we round the corner and enter the kitchen, my point is highlighted. Kellie is doting on Samuel, who is sitting at the counter, sipping ice tea.

“You look so well, Sammy. Before long, you’ll be back on the farm with your father and things can go back to the way they were. The way they’re meant to be.” Her eyes flick up, landing on Saxon. She doesn’t mask her direct tone, suggesting that Saxon isn’t part of those plans.

“Smells good.” I gently touch Saxon’s forearm, encouraging him to move, as he’s rooted to the spot.

He thankfully does.

The dining table is set out like its Thanksgiving, as the table is covered with every food imaginable.

“Wow. You’ve gone to a lot of effort,” I say, avoiding using the term ‘overkill’ to describe her feast.

Kellie places a huge bowl of mac and cheese in the center of the table, beaming when Samuel expresses his delight. “Nothing but the best for my sons.”

Saxon looks at the table before walking over to the fridge. I watch as he pulls out three bottles of beer.

Once Kellie is done dishing up the final plates of food, she takes a seat near Greg, who sits at the head of the table, unfolding his napkin and placing it into his lap. She pats the seat next to her, smiling at Sam. But he surprises me when he takes the seat opposite her. He looks at me, hinting that he wants me to sit beside him. I have no idea why, but I don’t question it.

We all watch as Saxon slouches into the seat next to Kellie, not at all impressed to be sitting beside her. I give him a gentle smile across the table, but all I’m returned with is a stiff upper lip.

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