AllFreeNovel
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He smirks and starts cracking eggs into a bowl while I get up and wander around. There’s nothing new, nothing different about his apartment. Micah never keeps piles of clutter lying around.
The sketchbook sitting in the middle of the kitchen table is the lone object of interest. I touch the plain black cardboard cover. He’s always been hesitant to show me his sketches and I’ve never pushed, not wanting to intrude on something that might be deeply private.
“Do you mind if I look in here?”
He glances up from the stove. “Go for it. I did those while I was in Vegas.”
Feeling oddly nervous, I flip open the cover as Micah, still naked, whisks the eggs with a fork.
He works in pencil. And when he attacks a page he fills every inch of white space.
The images are familiar and whimsical, drawn with loving detail, a breathtaking display of his talent.
Charlotte laughing amid an explosion of flowers as Total capers at her feet.
Conner charging down a football field in a moment of glory as a full yet faceless stadium watches.
Dani and Gage wrapped lovingly in each other’s arms, the Em City skyline in the background.
Cecile smiling on a beach in an alternative world where her eyes are intact.
Next is a man with mysteriously blurred features standing on the shore of a serene lake, a fishing pole in his hand. His stance and his shape look very similar to Micah’s but I know he isn’t Micah. It’s jarring to realize Ethan Lyonne wasn’t much older than we are now when he met a terrible death.
Micah scrapes the frying pan with a spatula and drops scrambled eggs on two mismatched plates.
Then my finger flips to the next page and my breath halts.
A long time ago, a little girl held a flower and reached out to share it with a little boy in pain. He didn’t accept it from her. But here, in this world of paper and graphite, he shyly meets her hand with his own.
Two heartsick children, reaching out and finding each other.
An ending that never happened.
At least, not back then.
The sting of tears gathers behind my eyes. We’ve never spoken about that day, the day of his father’s funeral. Now it’s the day of a different funeral and the whole of our long history is brought sharply into focus.
Micah, with his gift for silence, has prowled right behind me. His arms circle my waist. I relax into the warmth of his body.
“It’s us, Micah.”
“It is.”
“I had no idea that you remembered the dandelion.”
He nuzzles my neck and rocks me gently. “I remember everything.”
We stay like that for a minute before he reaches out and flips the page, turning the book so that the blank back of the page is what’s in front of us. With his left hand he plucks a lone black pencil from the table and takes my hand, mixing our fingers together so that we’re both holding the pencil. He has equal use of both hands but I’m strictly a southpaw.
Micah guides my hand to the paper and begins scrawling a message in tall, artful letters. I know what they’ll say before he’s finished and still I watch, mesmerized.
After the last letter, he drops the pencil but keeps my hand while admiring his handiwork.
MICAH LOVES TESS
Overcome by the current of emotion, I turn and press my cheek to his chest as his arms circle me protectively.
My heart is bursting and my soul is at ease.
