Page 23 of The Words We Lost

“It was six.” Joel’s smile comes easily as he reaches for his mug on the coffee table, although the wooden serving platter filled with an array of brunch items remains untouched by us both. It appears I wasn’t the only one with an anxious stomach prior to our first reading session.

“I forget,” he adds lightly. “You’ve heard that one a few times before.”

“Just a few.” It’s an effort not to crack a smile of my own as I remember the two cousins going head to head over who was more at fault the evening of Joel’s accident: Joel for not taking the time to pull on his rubber boots before wading into the dark waters, or Cece for not staying on task. I refused to choose a victor because secretly, I’d reveled in their over-the-top rivalries. Their banter had filled a sibling-size hole that was otherwise empty.

After Joel had arrived wearing his Sunday best and carrying a platter of delectable-looking foods, we’d sat on opposite sides of Cece’s living room. With the curtains pulled back on either side of the oversize windows, the view offered a neutral focal point, highlighting a powder-blue sky and sailboats in the distant waters. Given their high speeds, the wind has picked up considerably since my morning jaunt across the sandy beach.

“Did you know she was planning to run away that day?” I ask, picking at theAhoy, Matey!pillow on my lap.

“No.” Joel selects a tangerine from the tray and tosses it from hand to hand, his face contemplative. “But I don’t think she would have gone through with leaving. Even if she would have boarded that ferry and made it all the way to the Seattle airport, I think her common sense would have caught up to her well before Nevada.”

Spoken like a man who has never been without two loving, supportive parents. “Her plan sounded pretty solid to me. I mean, she even wrote a good-bye letter to Wendy. It certainly doesn’t seem like one of her more impulsive exploits.” Joel purses his lips, appearing to mull my opinion over as I continue. “I think she was determined to see her search through, at least until the money ran out. Her dad may not have played a lead role in her life, but she carried his absence with her everywhere she went.”

Joel’s eyes slide to mine, and I take a quick detour from this too-close-for-comfort subject. “I never realized how close the timing was, though.”

“The timing of what?”

“Never meeting each other.” Though I intend for the reference tobe about Cece, it’s impossible to pretend that the three of us weren’t intertwined into a single meet-cute that day, separated only by minutes. “Do you think that could be the point of this whole thing?” I gesture to the bulk of pages left to be read on his lap. “Some kind of life lesson about fate and friendship?”

“I’m not sure what point she’s trying to make. Not yet anyway.” He bends forward on a sigh, elbows to knees, and rolls the tangerine between his palms. “I’ll admit, I don’t think I heard a word of Pastor Gray’s sermon this morning. I spent most the time speculating over what we’d read in that first chapter.” The slight flush of his cheeks triggers warmth to simmer in the base of my belly. “I’m relieved, I think. It wasn’t as if I thought she was going to out some big family secret or something, but it’s unnerving to know we’re the main characters of this story.” He shrugs as if he’s finished, but I can tell he’s not.

“What else?” I prod.

“It was good to hear her voice again.” He stares down at his hands and offers a nervous laugh. “Which is probably a weird thing to say, considering it was my own voice I was hearing as I read.”

“It’s not weird,” I say, as I release my tight grip on the pillow. “I felt the same. Her narrative held true to her nostalgic, jovial point of view, though her tone and phrasing were slightly less dramatic than in her fiction. Still, she drew me in with her distinct perspective and her willingness to explore something so personal. Despite the differences in technique and style, her voice remained authentically her own.”

“Spoken like a true editor.” The admiration he speaks with now holds none of the edge I heard in his voice last night. “I doubt there’s another person in the world who knows her writing like you do. She always admired the way you told her the truth, even when it was hard to hear.”

I glance out the window to mark where the blue horizon kisses the sea. For the first time since the discovery of this memoir, I don’t want to push Cece’s words away out of fear, I want to draw them in close. I want to cherish them like the gift Joel deemed they’d be if only I’d give them a chance.

“The real truth,” I say, “is that Cece was one of a kind in every way.”

Joel lifts his coffee mug from the antique chest doubling as a coffee table and stretches across the divide toward me. “I’d offer cheers to that. You?”

This time, I allow a small curve of my lips as I lift my mug of tepid caffeine in his direction.

After we toast to Cece, he stands to prepare his brunch plate in earnest. Patti’s famous cinnamon rolls are among the mix, next to a pile of crisp maple bacon, crustless quiche, smoked salmon, and fresh baguettes. “I’m going to warm some of this up in the microwave. Should I add yours too?”

I spot the two fruit and yogurt parfaits, which is my usual go-to for breakfast, and nearly tell him I won’t be needing anything more, but the intense growl of my stomach gives me away.

The amused gleam in his eyes causes me to crack another half smile.

“Yes, thank you.”

I make quick work of adding various specialties to my plate before handing it off to be heated and wonder if Joel realizes the milestone we’ve passed this morning: fifty whole minutes together without a single argument or sharply spoken word between us. It seems he took my request to keep our interactions focused on Cece to heart last night. Well, good. If Joel is willing to shelve our history for the sake of this cause, then I certainly can, too.

When I stand from the sofa, I remember the clothing I’d donned this morning—the last of my clean options, a pair of navy bike shorts and an oversized, white zip-up hoodie. They were perfect for an early morning beach walk, but not for much else around town. Before I return my rental car at the drop-off location in Oak Harbor this afternoon, I’ll need to run to the superstore and stock up on a few personal necessities like shampoo and conditioner bottles larger than my thumb, for starts.

The sweet aroma of cinnamon and sugar wafts through the cottage,and my stomach clenches in want. “I doubt there’s a person on this planet who can resist your mother’s cinnamon rolls.”

“My mom actually retired from kitchen work last fall.” Joel strolls into the open dining area and sets our warmed plates on the table. I would have happily eaten in the living room, but Joel has always been one for eating at tables. The result of a family-born habit the two of us don’t share.

“Allie made a comment yesterday about her mom being the head baker,” I remark, “but I didn’t realize that was because Patti had retired.” I move toward the whitewashed wooden table and work to adjust my sweatshirt from where it’s slipped off my shoulder, briefly exposing my thin tank top straps and the inked skin I do my best to keep hidden. Joel freezes at the sight, and I quickly tug the zipper north. Heat prickles at the base of my throat as I move to sit in the chair he’s pulled out for me.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping we can move past the awkward moment and continue down the path of keeping things light—as light as two people who once promised their futures to each other can keep them anyway.

I pick up a piece of candied bacon and bring it to my lips just as Joel bows his head and blesses our food with a prayer. I murmur anamen, though it feels as foreign on my tongue as this high-brow meal to my low-class belly.

---