“Relax. I didn’t see much beyond your back, the top of your ass…”
“And my ribs and side. Anything else?”
“No.” He sounded regretful.
Why did he sound regretful? Was it because he felt bad for looking when he’d said he wouldn’t? Or was it because he wished he could’ve seen more? And why did I suddenly find myself wishing he’d seen more, craving his eyes and his hands on my skin? My body tingled with awareness, my nipples pebbling against the fabric of my robe.
“Maybe I should wait until you’re done in the shower,” he said.
I barked out a laugh. “Next thing I know, you’ll be offering to join me.”
His answering grin was wicked. “If that’s what will help you.”
I huffed, annoyed that my body liked the idea. I turned away from him. “Goodbye, Ethan.”
“Fine. I’ll go, but at least keep your cell phone nearby.”
He had a point. I walked back to my bedroom and grabbed it, holding it up as I passed. “Happy now?”
He lifted a shoulder and headed down the stairs, calling, “Don’t straighten your hair,” before the door closed.
I smoothed my hand over my hair, cringing at how frizzy it was. I hadn’t worn my hair curly since middle school, since the taunts had started—fluff ball, frizz face, The Frizz, and on and on. I might not be that insecure preteen anymore, but I had never imagined doing anything but straightening my hair. That was how everyone saw me. It was part of my image, or at least the image I wanted to project—one of a calm, composed attorney who was in control. Though, if life had taught me anything lately, it was that I was most certainly not in control.
Still traumatized after yesterday, I skipped the shower and opted to throw on some leggings and a tee. Despite everything, the day had ended well. Last night with Ethan had been…unexpected. For the first time in a while, I felt as if I’d connected with someone, had a conversation with someone. And it had been nice.
But if I was going to be back in Boston by January 4, I needed to get a move on. I was determined to finish going through my father’s files—wills, divorces, adoption proceedings. The people of this town and surrounding ones had trusted him with their secrets, with some of the most important aspects of their lives. It was so very different from the type of law I practiced and the clients I helped. It was more…honest, in a way. More fulfilling. More like the type of law I’d started out wanting to practice.
Relief washed over me when I finished the last of the files in his office, but there was one more place I needed to check. I climbed the stairs to the attic, wanting to make sure there was nothing else related to the practice up there. All the way up to the third floor, I climbed to the attic door. I pushed against it with my shoulder until it finally gave way. Dust motes floated in the air, sunshine streaming through the windows in the eaves. I hadn’t thought about this room in years, though I’d always loved playing here as a child. But as I waded through the boxes and random items, I wondered what on earth I’d gotten myself into.
There were paintings, old photo albums, and finally, what looked like legal files. With a heavy sigh, I sank down in a nearby rocking chair and set to work. It felt as if I were going to be crushed beneath the weight of these documents. Though I often lamented electronic discovery, it was better than sifting through papers one by one.
When my phone rang, I fished around, trying to find it among the mess of papers. I answered the call and placed it on speaker before setting it on my makeshift desk. “Hey, Emerson.”
“Hey. How’s it going? I wanted to call to see if you’d changed your mind about Christmas.”
She’d invited me to the Malones’ for Christmas dinner. As lovely as the family was, I didn’t want to be the third wheel. Ninth wheel? Whatever.
“I so appreciate the invite…” I opened the next file. Most of these were decades old. Some related to the practice, others were personal—taxes, warranties, you name it.
“But you’re not coming, are you?”
I laughed. “No.”
“I can understand wanting to be alone, but are you sure? It’s Christmas.”
I opened a file, and an envelope fell out. I studied the curvy script, my dad’s name written in my mom’s handwriting. I stared at it a moment before Emerson’s voice snapped me out of the trance.
“Audrey? You still there?”
“Yeah. Oh hey, um, I gotta go.”
She asked me something, but I was too preoccupied, muttering a “Sounds great” before ending the call.
I crouched to the floor and picked up the envelope. As I turned it over in my hand, I wondered at the contents. Though I’d discovered old photos and other sentimental items in the attic, this was the first item of my mom’s. And I sensed my dad wouldn’t have kept it were it not important.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to uncover what was inside. But I also knew I couldn’t ignore it. I took a few deep breaths, then with a shaking hand, I slid the flap open and pulled out the letter inside. Memories and mothballs surrounded me, trapping me in a time warp of sorts, allowing me to travel back into the past.
The letter was dated around the time my mom had left.
