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I angled the book so Sofia and I could read the note assigned to it.
“‘The first time I realized I didn’t have the power to shield you from heartache, but that I could be your calm in the midst of life’s storms.’” She’d attached the receipt for the three-tier ice cream cake she’d stopped at Carvel to buy on the way home.
“I remember she’d let me eat cereal for breakfast and dinner for the rest of the week. I thought she was being a cool mom, because I loved cereal, but she must have spent all the grocery money on that cake.”
The next photo was of me asleep in front of Cole’s locked bedroom door, my pillow underneath me and blanket drawn to my chin. A copy of the petition I’d created for the fountain in the park honoring Cole’s mother had been folded and stapled to the cardstock.
“‘What fighting for what you want and never giving up looks like. I couldn’t be more proud,’” I read.
“Cole was a hard nut to crack,” I said, remembering the days I’d camp outside his door until he’d let me in.
“Until he wasn’t,” Sofia ribbed, brows dancing. I kissed her nose and continued. “Is that Franklin?” she asked.
“Yeah, it is,” I confirmed. “What’s he doing?” I stared harder at the blurry photo. She must have taken it from a great distance, or maybe it hadn’t held up with age.
“Looks like he’s brushing someone’s hair back. Could it be you?”
“Yeah. That was the week we’d moved into Franklin’s home. I’d come down with something. The fever was pretty bad.” I touched the wrapper from a cough medicine bottle taped to the page. “He must have looked in on me, not realizing he’d been spotted by her.”
“‘He took care of you when he thought I wasn’t looking, and that’s when it mattered most,’” Sofia read. “Your mom was a lurker.”
“Apparently,” I said.
“Do you think she ever caught you and Cole?”
“No. She wouldn’t have kept quiet about that. And we were careful—until we weren’t.”Until I wasn’t.
We spent hours going through the scrapbook of memories. Scrolling photos of Cole and me throughout the years. Family vacations, Easter egg hunts along the property, and even movie nights. She’d told a story of love, loss, gains, and even forgiveness. And I took my time explaining the symbolism of it all to Sofia. To myself, too, because I began to see things more clearly. Through the eyes of my mother. She loved me.She still loved me.Even in the end, because this type of love never died, not even when the heart did.
“I can’t believe I’ve been running from this,” I said, tugging the corners of the last photo until it pulled free. It was a Polaroid of me sleeping with my head in my mother’s lap, taken the week before she passed away. Franklin had gotten her the Polaroid so she could have her photos instantaneously. We all knew what that meant.
Tacked to the photo was a picture of the Statue of Liberty. I’d drifted off filling her head with dreams of taking New York City by storm. It was mostly talk. She liked to hear me talk, and so I’d gotten in the habit of rambling about the most mundane things. She’d said she would miss me but had encouraged me to follow my heart. I’d held on to the part where she said she’d miss me, because it meant she’d still be around.
Sofia had read the attached note before I did, sucking in a breath and gripping my knee.
“I’ll love and support you through anything, Jasper. Or die trying.”
I closed the book and my eyes.Thosewere the words. Those were the words I’d needed to hear. The healing balm to my pain, the nurturing touch to my cold loneliness. She would’ve tried. Had she had the time to, she would have tried.
Franklin was right. I hadn’t forgiven her. Until he’d said the words, I hadn’t even known I was holding her death, my subsequent responsibility for it, and the loss of Cole against her. I hadn’t realized I blamed her for it all. Because she wasn’t perfect, because she’d made a mistake, and because she’d left before either of us could make things right.
The realization made me want to track down Cole and challenge every time he’d said forgiving was what I did best, because it was a lie, even if it was a blind one.
I needed to forgive her, and then I could forgive myself.
Sofia gave me some space, doing the dishes and returning the apartment back to normal as I sat with my thoughts. But nothing about this was normal. Nothing about what I’d chosen to do with my life was okay.
“Do you need me to stay?” she asked, sitting across from me again. “I can have hubby get dinner started.”
“No, go,” I said, waking from my stupor. “I’ll probably do a little thinking then head to bed early.” There was still her journal entry to grapple with, but it’d have to wait until morning.
“In the write-up, Cole talks about why the heart is important to him. You should check it out. Specifically the last paragraph.” With that she kissed the crown of my head and left, the door softly clicking shut behind her.
I tore through the magazine, pausing to absorb the sexy shots of him first. I couldn’t help it. I was starved for him. For any small glimpse of him.
I ran a finger over his chest as he reclined shirtless on a heart-shaped rug. The shot was taken from overhead, his hair strategically tousled as he gazed away from the camera’s lens thoughtfully. The black and white color scheme contorted the blue of his eyes into a light, molten silver shade, causing lust and longing to slam into me like a sledgehammer.
The other intimate shots were more of the same. More muscles, more of his eyes searing into mine, more lust, more longing, more sledgehammers.
