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“Hi, Lea, my name is Elza. I work for Douglas Pulaski, your mother’s attorney,” she says and I frown. My mom never told me she had an attorney, but there was a trend with my mom; she seemed to have kept a lot from me.
“How can I help you?”
“Mr. Douglas is out of town for the next month, and he left your mom’s will with me. Unfortunately, I’ve had pneumonia and haven’t been able to deliver it to you.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m not sure when I will be able to deliver it. If you need me to, I can mail it off, but there are a few things I’m supposed to go over with you,” she explains blowing her nose.
“Is there anything crucial in the documents?” I ask, feeling bad for her.
“No, nothing like that. Mainly it’s just stuff having to do with the house and a few of your mom’s account.”
“So it can wait. Just let me know when you’re feeling better and we’ll talk then,” I concede.
“Thank you for understanding, and I’m very sorry for your loss. Your mom was an amazing woman.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, still unsure what to say when people offer their condolences.
“We’ll talk soon,” she says, hanging up.
Putting the phone on the table, I open the box marked Lea’s Room. A picture of Austin and me from when we were seventeen sits on top in a dark blue wooden frame. Running my fingers over the image, I remember when it was taken.
Austin and I had spent the day out salmon fishing and bear watching. When we got home, my mom came out on the front porch and snapped this picture of us, because she thought it was cute we were dressed almost alike, in jeans, hoodies, beanies on our heads, and boots on our feet.
In the picture, you can see how much we loved each other, can actually feel it. Our fronts are pressed together, his stomach to my chest, my head is tilted back with my chin resting against his chest, and my arms around his waist. His head is bent towards mine, his hand wrapped around the side of my neck, and even in profile, I can see the admiration he had for me then.
Setting the photo aside, I pull the next item out of the box, putting it next to the photo, then pull out what I had been looking for to begin with. My mom had given me a locket when I was thirteen, and I left it behind when I left home. Opening it up, there is a picture of my mom and dad, with their cheeks pressed together. It was taken the day they found out they were pregnant with me.
“Baby!” Austin yells, startling me as he walks into the kitchen. “Why the fuck is the door unlocked?”
“I thought you were going to be gone until tomorrow?” I ask instead.
“Why isn’t the door locked?” he repeats, ignoring my question.
“Because this is Cordova and I forgot about it,” I say as his arms wrap around me and he lifts me off my feet.
“I don’t care. Make sure that you lock the door when you’re home alone.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I thought you were going to be gone until tomorrow,” I reiterate placing my hands on his shoulders.
“I was, but I met my quota early, so I unloaded and came over here to pick you up and take you home,” he says, dropping his mouth down to mine and stealing my breath. “I missed you.”
“We saw each other this morning,” I remind him, smiling.
“I miss you, even when you’re in the next room.”
My heart starts to pound harder in my chest; I’m in love with him. I’m in love with him and have no idea how it happened. It snuck up on me suddenly, or maybe it was that I never stopped loving him, and the love I held for him all these years came back, knocking me on my ass. I never even stood a chance.
“What?” He frowns, and I realize I just said that out loud.
Crap.
“I need to get new pants,” I say, and his face becomes even more confused, while my face turns red.
“You need to get new pants,” he repeats, lifting me higher until my legs wrap around him.
“For sure.” I nod and try to get down, but his arms hold me tighter.
“I like these pants.”
“I’m not wearing any,” I say, because I’m not. I have on a t-shirt and panties. I was getting ready to go to bed.
“You’re wearing my favorite socks.”
“You hate these socks.”
“No, I told you I wanted to fuck you in them and nothing else,” he growls, walking to the wall and pressing my back to it while pulling my shirt up over my head before proceeding to show me just how much he loves my socks—or me in nothing but the socks—while he’s inside of me.
“What are you doing out here?” I pull my eye away from the telescope lens and look at Austin, whose face is soft with sleep. His arms are crossed over his bare chest and his shoulder is leaning against the doorjamb, like he’s been there for a while, watching me.
After he took me up against the kitchen wall at my parents’ house, he told me to pack enough clothes to last a few days, that I would be staying with him at his house. I didn’t even argue with him about it, just went to my room and packed a bag. When I was done, I found him sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the picture of us. He didn’t say anything to me about it, but I could feel his energy had changed from earlier.
As soon as he realized I was there, he took the bag from me and added the framed photo of us to it. When we arrived at his house, the first thing he did was put that picture on the mantle above the fireplace before taking me upstairs and making love to me once more, that time slowly, like he was trying to memorize the moment.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell him quietly.
I woke up an hour ago and stared at the ceiling for thirty minutes before getting up and coming downstairs. I didn’t want to wake him up, because I knew how little sleep he has been getting, and I couldn’t fight the urge to toss and turn.
“You should have woken me up,” he says, coming to stand behind me, placing a kiss between my neck and shoulder tickling me with his beard.
“You needed to sleep,” I say, wrapping my arms over his.
“So do you.” He says burring his face in my hair.
“I’ve been sleeping better than I have in a long time,” I say honestly. Austin has become my own personal brand of sleeping pill. He has the ability to make everything better, and to keep my mind from wondering off.
“What’s on your mind?”
I miss my mom, I think but don’t say. I’m glad Austin has been letting me stay with him at his house; being in my parents’ house is difficult. It’s hard being surrounded by memories. Strange to be there knowing even though everything in the house looks exactly like it did before both of my parents passed away, they are never coming back.
“You miss your mom,” he guesses, and I nod, feeling tears fill my eyes.
It’s an ever-present weight in my stomach.
“Everyday something happens and I think, ‘Oh, Mom would love that,’ or, ‘I can’t wait to tell her about this,’ but she’s not here.”
“She’s always with you.”
“I know,” I agree, pulling the locket I found yesterday away from my neck and rubbing the metal between my fingers. “I think maybe I’ll feel a little better when I get her ashes,” I whisper. My mom donated her body to science, so after she passed away, the hospital sent her body off, and they would be sending me her ashes eventually, but I really have no idea when. “Can we take your boat out and spread her ashes where my dad’s boat was found?”
“Of course, baby.”
“Thank you,” I say, sagging into his warm chest and taking comfort from his embrace.
“Did you see anything good when you were looking through your telescope?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Just the stars.” I smile, and his fingers dig into my sides, making me laugh. Then I whisper, “When I left, I would sometimes lie outside at night and look up at the stars, wondering if you were doing the same thing.”
“Every chance I got,” he says, causing tears to sting my nose. “But now, I have you here with me, so I don’t ever have to wonder if we’re looking at the same stars again.”
“You’re gonna make me cry,” I complain, and he kisses my temple then wraps his arms tighter around me. “Are you excited to see your family?” I ask as he leads me inside and back up to bed, where he drapes me across his chest.
“Yeah, since they all moved, I don’t see them enough.”
“Have you ever thought of moving closer to them?” I ask, tracing random patterns onto his skin.
“No, I love this town and I love this house. I don’t ever see myself leaving.”
“Oh.”
“Are you having second thoughts about being here?” he asks quietly, but there is no mistaking the worry and agitation in his tone.
“No.” I run my hands over his arms that have tightened almost painfully around me, trying to relax him. “It was just a question,” I say, smiling as he grunts loosing his arms. Laying there I listen to his breathing even out as he falls asleep, and then I do the same.
