Page 79 of Almost Him

He takes the picture from me, nods at it, then sets it on the table. “Here’s one of you and Alden with your mom.” It wasn’t too long after their father had left.

He runs his finger over it. “How old was I?”

“Twelve.”

The pile of photos on the table grows as we make our way through them. My past and his, intertwined and caught in numerous still moments. I hand him a picture of the four of us, taken at one of my parents’ bonfire parties my freshman year.

“They used to have a party every fall. You always came. We played games and laughed at the adults that got too drunk. You loved to make s’mores back then too. That’s why I thought maybe eating them by the bonfire might trigger something.”

“It didn’t.”

“I know.”

Oliver stares at that picture then slaps it down on the table. “I don’t remember.” He gets to his feet and snaps, “And I don’t fucking recognize anyone!”

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” he shouts, dragging his hands through his hair. “It’s not fucking okay!”

Keeping my voice calm, I stand up to face him. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to look at anymore. I just wanted—”

“I know what you want. You want me to remember, but it’s not going to fucking happen! You want to get back to your life. I don’t want to be your problem either. I hate it as much as you do!”

His outburst shocks me. “Oliver…”

“I can’t do this right now.” He storms off and the door to his room slams behind him.

My tears fall on a picture of the four of us when we were around twelve years old. Look at us, so young and full of dreams. Those were good days. When I used to wake to the sound of my father’s radio always playing. Bounding down the stairs, bubbling with excitement, and rushing out filled with joy at the long, warm days of summer stretched out in front of me.

With a sigh, I gather up the photos and return them to the box. I’m tempted to go check on Oliver, but it’s best to leave him alone when he’s angry. Instead, I turn on some music and keep myself busy by straightening up the house then taking a shower. When I’ve killed as much time as possible, I get ready for bed.

I miss Alden tonight. When things were hard, his arms were the only place I wanted to be and that hasn’t changed.

I’m failing his brother. It’s not like I thought bringing Oliver here would solve all his problems, but I thought I could help. That being in familiar places was what he needed to get his memory back.

It’s not working. He’s miserable.

After I turn out the light, leaving the room dim, the sight of the small box I tossed on the dresser weeks ago catches my attention. It contains Oliver and Alden’s personal effects the cops returned to me. I haven’t looked inside, but I know what’s in it. Their empty wallets, two sets of keys, Oliver’s busted phone. Things the robbers had no interest in. Assuming it isn’t damaged or bloody, I could give Oliver his wallet back.

I open the box and Alden’s wallet lies on top. The sight of it instantly puts a lump in my throat. All I can see is the way he used to reach back to pull it out of his pocket. It always sat on his side of the dresser alongside the keyring of keys I pull out next. My fingers run over the familiar keys to his motorcycle, my studio, his shop, our front and back doors.

Oliver’s keyring is there too. I place it on top of his wallet. He’ll want those back. I’m not sure why they bothered to return the phone. It’s destroyed. It occurs to me that the SD card might hold some pictures if it isn’t too damaged. It gets set aside to look at later.

One last thing sits in the bottom of the box. One small thing that rips a cry out of my throat as soon as I recognize it.

The metal disc is worn shiny as if his fingers spent hours rubbing over it.

Kiss it for luck.

It’s been years since I’ve seen the flattened coin he picked up from the railroad tracks ten years ago. I remember wondering if he still had his, but it slipped my mind again before I could ask.

I can see him standing in front of me when we were barely adults. Telling me it wasn’t the end, only a pause.

Kiss it for luck.

He must’ve had it in his tuxedo pocket. He wanted it with him for our wedding.

“Tell me how I got so fucking lucky, El.”

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