Page 196 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“So, we good?”

“We’re good,” her cousin said.

Because family loved.

Even when they hated.

“Why is everyone standing outside?” Catherine asked, noting the cars they passed and the crowd of people they came up on at her parents’ large home. “And why are they all here?”

Andino parked his car a few feet away from the two people at the front of the crowd—her parents.

“Ma said she had to go to Los Angeles,” Catherine said.

Andino chuckled. “We all told a few white lies for this.”

“What?”

He didn’t explain.

Catherine only became more confused.

“Here,” Andino said, reaching into the backseat to grab what looked to be a shadowbox. It had a large hole in the top, and was at least three inches thick and a good foot long. The front window pane of the box was made of glass with two small interconnected C’s carved into the glass. “You’re going to need this.”

“Why?”

“I guess it’s time to find out, Catty.”

Catherine climbed out of the car, and fixed the skirt of her dress as she approached her parents. It seemed like nearly every single member of her family was there, and friends, not to mention people from Cross’s family.

“What’s going on?” Catherine asked.

Her father smiled. “We all have something for you, dolcezza.”

Her mother matched the smile. “Well, most of us.”

Dante’s hand reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, and he pulled out a single photograph. Catherine stared at the item, surprised her father even had something like that. It was a photo of Cross and Catherine when she was maybe thirteen, and he was fifteen. A picture she had snapped at school using her phone, and never thought about again once she upgraded devices.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“I don’t throw our devices away without emptying the contents into drives,” her father said. “Old habit, that’s all.”

He dropped the photo into the shadowbox without further explanation.

Catrina reached out and opened her palm, showing a small bag with sand inside. “Jacob Riis Beach, I was told.”

Catherine’s brow furrowed as her mother dropped the small bag of sand into the shadowbox, too.

“There’s more,” her father said softly. “You have to keep walking, Catty.”

Her mother and father parted just enough to let her move to the next people waiting. Her brother, Gabbie, and their three and a half month old son, Antony Dante. Michel held a small patch with the number thirteen and her old school’s logo. Gabbie held a small Range Rover emblem.

Someone else had a miniature paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet. Another held her silver knuckles. One of her cousins dropped in conch shells. Movie stubs. Another photograph. A daisy. A black Sharpie.

So many memories.

So many things.

Things that made up her and Cross and them.