Page 118 of Eight Years Gone

“The attic,” he said as he nodded. “I can’t say I went up there much. Maybe never. Except for that one time.”

Grace laughed. “I didn’t go up there a whole lot either. That was Bea’s domain. But look what I found.” She turned her body so he could read the box.

“Rose.” He looked at her. “You found some of your mom’s stuff?”

She beamed as she nodded. “I guess I always thought Dad threw her stuff out, but Bea must have tucked these away during the move. It’s her journals. I forgot she wrote in journals, Jagger. She told me once that she liked to write about the best parts of her life.”

He saw the excitement in her eyes. “That’s awesome that you have them.”

Another grin lit up her face. “She’s been gone so long—longer than she was mine. How lucky am I to have a piece of her back.”

Jagger kissed her. “I’m happy for you, Gracie.”

“Thanks.” She pressed her lips to his again. “What should we do next?”

He shrugged as he glanced at the box he’d set on the carpet next to him. “You tell me. Are you still looking around?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see anything else I need to bring. We can go if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Since we’re here in Wakeview, do you want to drive to the other side of town? You can see your mother—maybe find your brother?”

He shook his head and picked up the box, ready to be finished with this town and everything in it as they moved to the hallway. “They don’t want to see me any more than I want to see them. They’re most likely in jail, anyway.”

She sighed. “Should we go, then?”

He looked in his room one last time. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Four hours later, Grace stood in her office, taking the last of her mother’s journals from the box, adding them to the tall stack on her desk.

She sat down in her comfortable leather chair, delighted yet slightly overwhelmed by over a decade’s worth of books. Most of the journals were labeled with the date on each cover. Some years had more than two.

Arranging them from the year before Logan’s birth to the year of her mother’s death, she paused, nibbling her lip, wondering if reading them was the right thing to do.

“What are you up to in here?” Jagger asked as he walked up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m trying to bring a little order to the chaos. I still have to go through the box you brought in from my old bedroom.”

“That’s a lot of journals.”

“Yes, it is. I’m trying to decide if I want to read from the oldest to the newest or vice versa, but maybe I shouldn’t read them at all.”

Jagger frowned. “I thought you were excited to dive in.”

“I am. I was.” She shrugged. “I was doing some thinking on the drive back. Those are my mother’s private thoughts. I feel like I’m invading her privacy.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

“Maybe I’ll just pack them away again.” She sighed as she tilted her head, holding Jagger’s gaze. “But even as I say that, a selfish part of me wants to invade her privacy even if I feel guilty about it. I remember so much about my mom, but if she were still here, our relationship would be entirely different from when I was thirteen. There would be more complexities. More layers.”

“Let’s do this,” Jagger said as he pulled her to her feet, sat down in her chair, then tugged her down on his lap, settling his arms around her waist.

She hooked her arm around the back of his neck. “This is nice.”

He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “I think you should read the journals.”

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