by Street, K.
I doubled over in laughter. “Grandma, you’re awful.”
“How I have missed the sound of you laughing. It’s been too long, baby.”
My eyes watered.
Shit.
She walked around the island and stood in front of me. “Now, now. There’ll be none of that. Not today. Not yet.” Grandma patted my cheek and pulled me into a hug.
Her familiar scent of lilacs, comfort, and peace washed over me. Grandma understood in a way nobody else did, except Jase. My grandparents had been married for forty-seven years when Grandpa died. He was the love of her life, and she never had another relationship again.
“I love you,” I said into her hair.
She squeezed me extra tight and then released me. “I love you, too, baby. How about that coffee? I’m not gettin’ any younger.”
Thankfully, Easton had nearly a full bottle of Jameson on the top shelf in the pantry. I whipped up an Irish coffee for Grandma, made one for myself, and got beverages for everyone else. Then, we all settled into the living room.
My father waited for us all to get situated before he started passing out the presents. Seeing my father in his Santa hat brought back so many memories from my childhood. Our parents had given my brother and me a wonderful childhood. We had been spoiled but not with material things. They showered us with love and affection. They set boundaries but allowed us to fail. I hoped I could be one-half the parent those two were, especially since I was in it all alone.
My eyes met my father’s. He winked at me and began passing out gifts.
Dad made sure everybody had one gift, and we all opened them at the same time. Paper crumbled as it was torn from packages. Then, we each held up our treasures and thanked the giver. Unwrapping the first gift together had been part of our family’s Christmas tradition for as long as I could remember.
The stockpile of gifts dwindled until there were only a few left.
“Let’s see.” Dad picked up a gift and peered at the tag. “This says, To: Knox, From: Jase.”
I had completely forgotten about the gift.
Four sets of eyes glanced in my direction.
I shrugged and reached for the box to give to my son.
Knox sat crisscross beside me on the floor. He ripped off the paper, lifted the cardboard tabs, and rummaged inside. “Mommy, look!” he exclaimed as he pulled out two handmade wooden toy cars.
“Wow, little man, those are awesome.” I hoped like hell my family didn’t see how my hands shook as I raised my phone to snap a picture.
The cars had been painted down to the tiniest detail. It must have taken Jase hours. In an instant, Jase’s thoughtfulness melted me from the inside out. In the next, guilt consumed me like an infectious disease.
As soon as the last gift was opened, I excused myself and fled to the bathroom, closing myself inside. I turned on the faucet, cupped my palms, and then bent over the sink, splashing water on my face. I patted my face dry on the hand towel and then shut off the water. Clammy hands rubbed the back of my neck. My throat tightened, and it got harder to breathe. It had been a while since I had a panic attack, and I needed out of this room before I completely lost it. I reached for the doorknob, twisting it open.
My grandma stood in the hall, waiting for me. She reached for my hand, and together, we went into my bedroom. Once the door was shut, she led me over to my unmade bed and kicked off her shoes. Then, she released my hand and sat on my bed, patting the spot beside her.
I laid my head in her lap and curled into a ball. Grandma glided her fingers through my hair, stroking it the way she used to when I was a little girl.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Minutes passed without either one of us saying a word. My tears quietly fell, pooling in her lap.
“Your grandfather was a looker,” she began. “He asked my sister, your great-aunt Mabel, out on a date just so he could get to me.”
I’d heard the story a hundred times, but I listened with rapt attention because it never got old.
“He was handsome and hardworking. And so charming. I swear, that man could charm a chastity belt off a nun.”
“Grandma!” I laughed.
“Honey, it’s the gospel.” She lifted her hand, waving it heavenward. “Your grandpa was the other half of my soul. Over forty-seven years, we shared a life. We laughed, we loved, we fought, and we made up. Then, I lost him. And all those years … suddenly felt like five minutes.”
I sniffled and stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“Even though it felt that way, your grandfather and I had a lifetime of memories. He watched his kids and grandkids grow up. He lived long enough to meet several of his great-grandchildren. It was a good life, and in a way, we had forever.”
I sniffed louder. My tears flowed faster.
Grandma sighed, still running her fingers through my blonde locks. “This isn’t the life you planned. Right now, you’re hurting, and you’re angry. All you feel is grief because your forever with Colin was cut short. But, one day, you’ll be ready to open your heart again, and you’ll see that maybe where forever ends is just a different beginning.”
Her words spun in the air before taking root in my soul.
Several minutes later, I picked my head up from her lap and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Grandma.”
She patted my hand. “Anytime, baby. Now, go wash your face, and let’s go help your mama with dinner.”
* * *
Hours later, the kitchen had been cleaned, Grandma and our parents had left, and I’d put Knox down for the night. I’d drunk enough Coquito to float a barge, and it still wasn’t enough to dull the pain.
I curled up on my bed, clutching my phone, running on emotions and alcohol. I scrolled through the pictures in my gallery from last Christmas. I stared at the image of Colin as he balanced Knox on his shoulders in front of our tree while Knox bit his tongue in concentration. Chubby little fingers gripped the angel, so careful not to drop it. This picture was proof my life had really been a Norman Rockwell painting.
My finger swiped the screen.
In the next shot, the angel was perched on top of the tree while Knox triumphantly raised his hands in the air.
“My did it.”
His smile was wide, revealing his tiny white teeth.
My vision blurred with unshed tears. I flipped through several more pictures, stopping when I glimpsed the matching stockings hanging from the mantel, our names embroidered with golden thread.
An involuntary gasp filled my ears.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as a deep, sorrowful ache rooted into my marrow.
I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to remember.
That was the thing about memories though. They had a way of sneaking up on a person like an unwelcome surprise or unwanted houseguest, and your only choice was to acknowledge it.
“Knox, this one is for Mommy.” Colin gave a beautifully packaged box to our son.
“Fo’ you, Mommy.”
The shimmering gold foil paper crinkled as I unwrapped it and opened the lid. I pulled back white tissue paper to reveal a stocking that matched the ones hanging from the mantel. My heart lurched as I ran my hand over the stocking. It matched the others, but this one didn’t have a name.
My gaze shifted from the gift to Colin’s face.
His smile was the biggest I’d seen since the day Knox was born.
“Really?” The smile on my face shone as bright as his.
Knox had just turned three nearly two weeks ago.
“I think it’s time, don’t you, sweetheart?” Colin crossed the space that separated us, tugged me to my feet, and pulled me into his arms. He rested his chin on the top of my head as we watched our son. “I think he needs a little brother.”
“Or a sister,” I countered.
With a finger hooked under my chin, he brought my eyes up to meet his. “We’ll start tonight.” Then, he kissed my lips.
Later, after Knox was asleep, Colin took me by the h
and and led me into the living room where he had made a pallet in front of the fire. He released me long enough to reach for the remote, muting the television just as George offered to lasso the moon for Mary.
He cupped my face between his palms as he brought his mouth to mine. The kiss was tender. Unhurried.
Colin’s hands slid beneath my shirt, his fingertips languidly tracing over my rib cage and along the curve of my breasts, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. He broke the seal of our lips to ease my shirt over my head.
“Jesus, Say. You take my breath away.” Colin rolled my nipple between his thumb and index finger.
My back arched as heat scorched my nerve endings. I gripped his biceps to keep from falling over.
“Colin. Please,” I begged. I needed more of him. All of him.
Seconds later, we were both stripped bare. Colin knelt before me, skating his lips over my skin. Teasing me. Tasting me.
A soft mewl hummed in my throat as my hands dived into his thick, dark hair while he dipped his tongue into my core. He brought me to the edge and pulled away.
I groaned in protest.
Then, he pulled me down to him and flipped our bodies, so my back was cushioned in the billowy softness of the blankets.
Love and lust collided in an explosion of hunger that flared in his chocolate-colored eyes. His cock jutted out, searching for a home. Colin hovered over me, lining himself up at my entrance, and then clasped my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine as he slowly slid inside me.
My eyelids fell shut as I reveled in the sensation.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” Colin pulled almost all the way out before pushing deeper.
I did as he’d asked, my gaze finding his.
“Promise me.”
“Anything.” My breath hitched.
“Promise me it will always be like this, Say. Promise that, no matter what happens, we won’t ever lose this.”
I gripped his hands. “I promise. I love you, Colin. I love you so much.”
He took my mouth in a hard kiss, increasing the intensity of his thrusts before burying his face in my neck.
Seconds later, we tumbled over the edge together.
Afterward, Colin pulled me close, tightly clutching me to him, almost like he was afraid I might slip away. We lay there in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours. Our tangled bodies bathed in the warm glow of Christmas lights and the smoldering flames from the fire. Just the two of us. Talking. Dreaming. Making plans and promises.
I buried my face in Colin’s pillow. Each gut-wrenching sob was stifled between layers of cotton and polyester.
A large red plastic tote resided in a storage unit across town. Tucked inside was the angel tree topper Colin and I had bought our very first Christmas together and four matching burgundy-and-evergreen crushed-velvet stockings. One of them would never have a name stitched in golden thread. It wouldn’t hang from a hook on the mantel year after year or be filled with trinkets and treasures. The knowledge broke me. That precious gift served as a tangible reminder that, despite the best-laid plans, sometimes, life fucked you over.
Colin’s pillowcase was soaked. The fabric so saturated with tears and snot that it clung to my face. I drew my knees into my chest to quell the ache in my stomach.
Seconds or minutes, maybe hours, had passed when my phone screen lit up the darkness. Driven by instinct, I reached for it and read the message.
Jase: Sweet dreams.
Jase.
Not Colin.
I’d wanted so damn bad for it to be Colin.
All the alcohol I had consumed earlier churned in my gut. My hand went to my mouth, and I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping as I reached the bedroom door and twisted the knob. I half-walked, half-stumbled to the bathroom, managing to close the door before I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
I sank to the floor, tucking myself into a tiny ball. With my palm mashed against my lips to muffle the sounds of my heart shattering, I cried until I passed out.
Twenty-Two
Easton
“What the hell?” I sprinted to my bedroom door and flung it open.
Knox’s cries filled the house. The sounds of his distress led me to my sister’s room.
“M-mom-mom-mee.” My nephew stood in the middle of the floor, wailing, and Saylor was nowhere in sight.
“Shh.” I lifted him into my arms. “It’s okay, buddy. Shh.”
Fuck.
The bed was a tangle of sheets, and the blankets were thrown back. A pillow lay in the center of the bed as if she’d curled herself around it. My eyes landed on her phone, and the fear gripping my throat relented by a fraction.
Knox’s chest heaved as he sobbed harder.
“It’s all right, dude. We’ll find Mommy.” I carried him into the living room, opening the blinds. Relief washed over me when I spotted her SUV in the driveway.
“M-mom-mee go b-bye-bye?” he asked through his tears.
“No. She’s here, buddy. Maybe she had to go potty.”
We backtracked through the front room and down the hall to the other end of the house. The bathroom door was shut.
I lifted my fist and knocked against the wood. “Saylor?” I tried the knob, relieved when it turned.
I opened the door to the sight of my baby sister on the bathroom floor.
My blood ran cold.
“Mommy!” Knox tried to squirm out of my arms.
Keep your shit together, man.
Time stood still while I waited for her chest to move. Finally, Saylor took a breath and then another.
She’s sleeping. Thank God.
I had just lived the longest seconds of my life. I saw color in her cheeks. Watched her torso expand and contract. She had simply fallen asleep.
“See, buddy? Mommy’s okay. She’s only taking a nap.”
The sound Knox made was somewhere between a sob and a giggle. He used the back of his hand to wipe the snot from his nose. “S-silly Mommy. We no sleep in a bathroom.”
“Right? Your mommy is so silly. I think she’s just tired. Let’s go get Rex, and you can watch PAW Patrol. Your mommy is okay.”
“Mommy ’s okay,” he said the words aloud as if he were trying to convince himself.
I repeated the words back to him, trying to convince us both.
Once he was settled in front of the television, I hauled ass back to the bathroom and knelt next to my sister.
Saylor wore a pair of gray sweatpants that nearly swallowed her frame and a long-sleeved men’s dress shirt that I knew had belonged to my brother-in-law. I gently swept the hair from her forehead and placed my palm against her skin. She wasn’t running a fever, so that was a good sign.
I gently shook her shoulder to rouse her. “Hey,” I said, keeping my tone soft. If she had a headache, I didn’t want to make it worse.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Are you sick?”
She looked like hell, and she wouldn’t meet my gaze. As the first anniversary of Colin’s death drew nearer, Saylor was teetering on the edge, and I didn’t know how to help her. Grief wasn’t a playground bully. I couldn’t beat it up, like I had Tommy Wallace the day he pushed Saylor off the swing.
I stared at her, my eyes pleading. “Say … come on. You can’t stay on the bathroom floor.”
Just when I thought she wouldn’t budge, she slowly pushed herself up. Then, her back slumped against the wall as though that simple movement had zapped her of energy.
She was weak. Fragile. And seeing her like this made me realize how truly broken she was.
Knox was alone, watching television. The kid was only four, and I needed to get back out there and check on him.
I was out of options, so I scooped my kid sister off the floor, carried her into her bedroom, and tucked her into bed.
“Get some sleep.”
I almost made it to the door when her voice stopped me.
“Knox?”
“He’s fine. I’
ll be back to check on you,” I promised and then pulled the door, leaving it open a crack.
I made my nephew eggs for breakfast and cut up some fruit. Then, we made towers with the Lincoln Logs I’d bought him for Christmas. When he grew tired of that, we played with farting blue slime, read a few books, and raced his cars across the coffee table.
Around noon, when Saylor still wasn’t up, I looked at Knox and asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s go make some lunch.”
We left our mess behind and walked side by side into the kitchen.
I reached for a small skillet from one of the lower cabinets. “Do you like grilled cheese?”
“Mommy make me that.”
“How about we make one for your mom?” I opened the refrigerator, took out the butter and the cheese, and set them on the counter. Then, I snatched the bread.
“I can do it?”
“You can help.” I picked him up and set him on the work surface next to the stove, turning on the burner farthest away from him.
“Here.” I grabbed a slice of cheese and showed him how to take the plastic off. “Your job is to unwrap the cheese.”
“Okay.”
It took us around fifteen minutes to make the grilled cheese sandwiches. After I helped Knox down from the counter, I put Saylor’s lunch on a paper plate. Then, I filled a lidded tumbler with sweet tea and popped a straw into the hole.
“All right, buddy, can you carry this?”
“Sure.”
I gave him the tea and watched him take a drink.
“Mommy will like it.”
I pulled a banana from the bowl on the island and headed to Saylor’s room. The door was slightly ajar, just how I’d left it.
Saylor was facing the wall, her back to the door.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Knox half-skipped to the other side of the bed, making me glad I’d had the forethought to put a lid on the cup he carried.
Saylor’s eyes were open, silent tears streaming over her face.
Knox set the drink on the bedside table. “Mommy, you are sad?” he asked the question mere inches from her face. “No be sad. We made you cheese.”
