Alma Underwood Is Not A Kleptomaniac

by Lacey Dailey

  He’s here.

  “Thank you for surviving, Rumor.”

  “Thank you for reminding me why I needed to.”

  He brings our hands to his lap, and I happily let him invade my personal space. The tips of our noses touch and I can’t see the smile on his lips, but the one in his eyes is spectacular. “I can’t stay for long. I promised Josh I’d tell him about my mama. She was wonderful, Ace. She worked at a craft store and ate breakfast food for every meal. You know those paintings Reggie has all over his house? She painted them. How crazy is that? My mom was a painter. Reggie said I could have one.”

  Desperate to feel his smile, I drag my thumb across his bottom lip. “That’s amazing.”

  “Maybe tomorrow I could come back over and tell you all about her?” He captures the tip of my thumb between his lips and releases it with a kiss.

  “Rumor, I’d love that.”

  “Me too. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I’ll never raise my voice at you like that again.”

  “I’m sorry too. No more lies. They make me itchy.”

  He chuckles, and it vibrates against my lips. “Deal.”

  “Best friends again?” I hold my breath and cross my fingers, holding them against my heart.

  “Best friends but on one condition.” Tilting his head, he drags his nose down my cheek, neck, and presses a kiss to my collar bone. “You let me love you.”

  I stop breathing.

  “Because, Alma, I love you. The way I love you has changed the way I see the world and it feels good. It feels good to love you, baby, and I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore. I’ve still got some healing to do, the road ahead of me is rocky, and it might get messy, but I’m done with just surviving. Loving you is living, Ace. I want to live.”

  The butterflies explode.

  I’m tangled in the trail of kisses they left behind, and I have no intention of trying to escape. In their wake they leave behind a current of comfort, flowing through my veins. My cheeks warm, and the heart inside my chest registers an extra beat.

  His.

  “I love you too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve said since the day I found you I’ve had a feeling. If I would’ve known back then that feeling was love, I would’ve tried to find you sooner. You, Rumor Rawlings, are my greatest find.”

  “Did Alma Underwood just declare me as her favorite lost treasure?”

  “Not lost.” I cup his face. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

  Draping my arms around his neck, I kiss him. With all that I have, all that I am, I kiss Rumor, and with it comes the greatest feeling known to man.

  An exceptional treasure.

  Love.

  Epilogue

  Rumor

  “We are gathered here today to––"

  “Jackson!” There’s a red rose behind her ear, and it bounces when she shakes her head. “This is a funeral. Not a wedding.”

  “Alma, please.” The sword in Jackson’s left hand stabs at the ground as he regards his sister with a pinched expression. “When Rumor asks you to officiate his runaway mother’s second funeral, you may write the script. Until then, keep your suggestions to yourself.”

  Alma nods, pretending to zip her lips. She tosses the key on the ground and stomps on it, digging the heel of her sparkly red shoe into the dirt below us.

  I nudge her with my hip. “Behave, would ya? You’re gonna get kicked out of my mother’s funeral.”

  “I think that crown on top of his head is getting to him,” she says, and then slaps both hands over her mouth like she forgot her lips were under lock and key.

  Snaking an arm around her waist, I pull her flush against me and kiss the top of her head. “You should be the one wearing the crown, Ace.”

  With a soft sigh, she leans into me, wrapping her arms around my middle and squeezing. Smiling against the dress shirt I’m wearing, she gives her attention back to Jackson, and I know she’s working hard to keep her giggle inward.

  For today’s event, Jackson’s decided to dress as a medieval king, tights and all. With a surcoat draped over his shoulders and a belt the size of his stomach, he looks fit to the hold sword he drags behind him. Charlevoix matches impeccably, wearing a surcoat of her own, and a tiny crown between her ears.

  “We are gathered here today in celebration,” Jackson begins, capturing the attention of the small crowd surrounding him.

  The thirteen of us have made a horseshoe with our bodies, standing shoulder to shoulder. Between the suits, dresses, and the cape Arthur is wearing, nobody is wearing black today.

  I requested color.

  Pink, yellow, white, blue, green, purple and red. Color is everywhere––acting as a power that impacts the soul. Not my soul. My mother’s.

  The color is for her.

  “When Rumor asked me to stand before you today and speak on behalf of his mother, I almost said no. Because how do you honor somebody you’ve never met? Then I realized, I have met Allison. I’ve met her through Rumor, through Reginald, through paintings that now hang in my parent’s motel.” With Charlevoix now curled at his feet, he stops pacing and lifts his chin. “My older sister is kind of a kleptomaniac.”

  Alma groans beside me.

  “She has this thing for taking objects people leave behind and making something out of them. She calls them her treasures.” Jackson’s throat clears and he bites the inside of his cheek, looking at me with a smile that has my lip trembling. “I believe that’s what people do when they pass on––leave treasures behind for us to find. Something to remember them by or honor them with. Something for us to give our love to. Allison left lots of treasures behind for us to find but I know I speak for all of us when I say the greatest thing she left behind was you.”

  Our eyes meet, and a tear rolls down my cheek. It slips off my chin and splashes the tip of my leather shoe. I stare at the puddle it makes, and when another tear joins it, I watch the puddle get bigger. A hand comes down on my shoulder with a strength that belongs to Josh. When he squeezes, giving me a shake, I lift my head and tighten my grip on Alma.

  “I’m sorry, Rumor, that the bouquet of roses you showed up with today is next to her resting place instead of in her hands, and I’m sorry you can’t remember the woman you share eyes with. I’m sorry we’re celebrating her life rather than bearing witness to her living it. And although most of us here never knew her, we’ll honor her anyway. Because with her, comes you. Sorry isn’t enough to bandage the cuts you wear beneath your skin but I hope knowing what you meant to her is.”

  Alma’s hand is over my heart now, rubbing in slow motion as though she knows I need her to quell some of the pain. The firm grip Josh has on my shoulder tightens with the shudder that moves up my spine.

  “Thank you for being here,” I want to tell him but he already knows how deeply appreciative I am for the trip he made here this weekend, so I stay silent, the only sounds leaving me the occasional sniff.

  It isn’t until Jackson asks if anyone would like to share a few words do I take a shaky step forward. Leaves crunch beneath my feet with each step I take toward my mom. The tombstone is cold beneath my palm when I rest my hand on the curve of it. It’s not a replacement for the warmth her touch would bring but it’s what I have, so I close my eyes and wait for her to replace the darkness.

  When she appears, I find the rose behind her ear has friends now. There are thousands of them, spanning a field that goes on for miles. My mom is standing in the center, her face toward the sun and a hand on her heart. A light wind has them all blowing toward her, and she inhales, smiling as the scent reaches her nostrils.

  She looks different now than she ever has before, and I think maybe that has to do with the person standing next to her. Holding her hand tight is a man, he’s wearing a shirt with no tie and flashing her a smile that looks just like mine.

  “I used to be mad at you,” I tell them, and they frown at me. “I was mad at you for leaving me
and in some ways I still am. Just a little. I hate that you aren’t here to meet my girlfriend or watch me graduate from high school.” My dad looks at me, cocking his head as though he doesn’t understand. “Reggie he, uh, he helped me enroll at Flat Rock High School and I start in a few days. It’s going to be weird without your first day of school waffles, dad. The day I get my cap and gown is going to be bittersweet because it’s you that was always supposed to adjust the cap on my head until it sat just right. I feel both of your absences every day, more so now that I’m growing up. I keep trying to make choices that will make you proud, and I can only hope I’m doing okay so far. Turns out, the University of Michigan has a nonprofit management degree. It’s the road I’m going to drive down, and I hope somehow, you’ll both come with me.”

  They both nod, smiles etched on their faces. My mother has a hand over her heart, tears in her eyes. My father’s lips brush a spot on her forehead that isn’t concealed by hair. When their eyes meet, they start to glow and I wonder if it’s the violins and the butterflies mixing. I wonder if that’s what love looks like when it’s the only thing left to feel.

  A sob breaks free from my chest, and I let the tears soak the collar of my shirt. They don’t burn this time and breathing is less like a chore and more like something that was gifted to me. “It sucks you aren’t here but it sucks a little less knowing you’re together again. I’ll be back with updates as often as life allows and I promise to keep you with me wherever I go.” With a kiss to my fingers, I run the pads of my fingers over her name, watching as they wave at me, vanishing into the roses.

  My tears dry watching them fade, and I use her headstone to pull myself back to my feet. I look over my shoulder, and like always when I feel as though I might drown, she’s right there.

  I reach for her, and she dives. Right into the ocean I’m trapped in, wrapping her arms around my neck and tugging me to the surface with a strength she regularly shares with me.

  “I love you,” she tells me, stretching up on her tiptoes to pepper my jawline with kisses.

  “I love you too.”

  And we stand there, holding each other while the sun goes down and those around us step up to my mother to pay their respects. Josh pats my back when he walks past me, leaving my mother one last rose.

  Soon, everyone is gone and it’s just my girl and I. Using my knuckle, I tilt her chin and connect our lips. Gratitude and love pour from my mouth to hers as I kiss her, lifting her off her feet to carry her the way she has me.

  “Your love is the real treasure,” she told me.

  But I disagree.

  It’s hers.

  Acknowledgments

  Tristan, I love you. Thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams.

  Monique, even thousands of miles away I can always count on you to be there for me. As always, you helped this book evolve from an idea to a novel and I’m so thankful for our friendship.

  To Keeley, my editor, you help me transform my words and make them shine. Thank you for working your magic on this novel and loving these characters as much as I do.

  Thank you to the bloggers and bookstagrammers who have supported me nonstop. The love I feel from you all is profound.

  Thank you to all the readers and bloggers who joined my reader group, Lacey’s Lounge, on Facebook. I love learning about each and everyone of you, and I’m so grateful I have such a positive group of readers to share my journey with.

  As always, thank you to all the readers who continue to read my novels and express their love and interest. It means more to me than you’ll ever know. You chose to read my books over the millions of books available, and I’ll never take that for granted. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review. Reviews fuel indie authors.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  XO, Lacey

  About the Author

  The best place to find Lacey is with her nose in a book. She’s a sucker for a good love story and a happy ending that has her swooning. When she’s not obsessing over giving her own characters a happy ending, you can find her in the dance studio empowering young dancers and giving out tons of stickers. Thanks to her mother’s pizzeria, Lacey can make a delicious pizza.

  When she’s not putting on her dance shoes or inhaling a slice of pizza, she’s in front of her computer binge watching romantic comedies and penning stories with love so powerful, it’ll last a lifetime. As a recent graduate of Central Michigan University, Lacey intends to keep inspiring people through dance and lots and lots of words. She currently lives in Central Michigan surrounded by her family and unpredictable weather.

  Connect with Lacey:

  www.laceydaileyauthor.com