Page 73 of All We Could Still Have

Kyle glanced up at the window. Our eyes locked. His softened, and he smiled. A collage of memories played through my mind: his grin in the chairlift when he handed me the flask, the shy kiss he gave me at the end of our first date, the tears in his eyes as I walked down the aisle toward him on our wedding day, the way he held me and wouldn’t let go the night of my parents’ accident, his booming laugh when Cole jumped up on our bed and licked his face, singing duets while we cooked dinner together.

For months, I’d been afraid he would never look at me with soft eyes and a smile again. Now that he was, I felt as if my heart had been jump-started. I knew then that I still loved him. My knees buckled, thinking of all we had lost and all we could still have.

Kyle and I spent the rest of the morning playing games with Cameron and Noah. In the afternoon, the four of us sat around the picnic table on the patio, eating hot dogs that Kyle had grilled. After lunch, the boys changed into their bathing suits and ran through the sprinkler, filling the backyard with shouts of joy and uninhibited laughter. Kyle and I kept smiling at each other as we watched them play. As my eyes met his, I imagined the two of us in our own backyard playing with an auburn-haired little girl. I could feel her small hand in mine and hear her calling me Mommy.

“Come on, Uncle Kyle, Auntie Nikki.” Cameron beckoned from under the sprinkler.

Kyle grinned at me. “What do you say?”

“I’m going to stay here where it’s dry, but go ahead.”

Not bothering to remove his work boots or T-shirt, he stepped toward the sprinkler. He glanced back over his shoulder, and in one fluid motion that seemed choreographed, he whirled around and grabbed me at the waist.

“No,” I yelled.

He lifted me off the ground with Cameron cheering him on and marched toward the sprinkler. As the spray of water moved toward us, I buried my head in his shoulder, taking in his familiar cedar scent. God, how I had missed that smell, missed him. The pellets of icy water pummeling my sweaty skin shocked me. I tightened my grip on Kyle’s arms and shifted so I could see his face. He pulled me so close I could feel his warm breath on my mouth. As his eyes met mine, the grayspecks in his blue irises sparkled. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so giddy about the way he looked at me.

Sharon’s parents arrived in the late afternoon to take over babysitting duty. As Kyle and I said goodbye to the kids and got ready to head to our separate homes, the light, spacey air I’d been floating on since he rang the doorbell early this morning turned heavy and thick. I slogged down the driveway to my car, hoping he’d ask me if he could come home. He climbed into his Jeep. “Have a good night.” As he closed the car door, I could feel a vibration in my chest, and I imagined more pieces of my heart splintering off.

Chapter 43

At the end of Sharon’s road, Kyle turned right, and I took a left, dreading returning to my quiet, empty house. Out on the main street, I eased up on the gas. There had to be somewhere else I could go. The driver behind me beeped. I sped up and steered toward Aunt Izzie’s. Her car was parked in the garage. The front door and all the windows were open. Inside, fans whirled at full speed, providing no relief to the stifling heat. The house felt like a sauna. The smell of tuna fish lingered in the air.

“Aunt Izzie,” I called. No one answered.

I sat down at her card table and began to work on her latest puzzle, one thousand pieces that when slotted together would be an image of the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d been to San Francisco once with Sharon. We took the trip to the West Coast shortly after I’d met Kyle. While riding the cable cars, I told her he was the one. I’d been so sure about him from the beginning.

After a few minutes, the heat and number of puzzle pieces all painted varying shades of blue frustrated me. I struggled to figure out which made up the ocean and which were for the sky.

I gulped down an ice-cold glass of water, sat down on the couch, and sent Aunt Izzie a text telling her I was at her house. She told me to wait; she was talking to the neighbor down the street and would be home in a few minutes.

The TV remote control rested on the coffee table next to a photo album with a light-blue cover and the wordMemoriesstenciled in black across the top. Dana and I had found a green one just like it the day we carried the patio furniture up from Aunt Izzie’s basement to her deck. I could still hear the panic in my aunt’s voice as she shouted at us to stop looking at the pictures. Would she be mad if I looked at the photos in this blue memory book? After several seconds, I convinced myself she would have no objections. I picked up the photo album and glanced toward the door. A bang echoed through the house. I dropped the book back down on the coffee table. A second bang sounded and then a third.The ice maker.

I reached for the photo album again and flipped to the first page. An image of Dana at four or five years old stared back at me. She wore wide-legged blue jeans and a shirt with Yogi Bear on it, clothes that seemed all wrong. Dana used to be afraid of Yogi Bear, and the pants looked like something from the seventies. I leaned closer to the picture and gasped. It wasn’t Dana. It was my mother. I felt a prick of jealousy toward my sister for inheriting all my mother’s beautiful features.

More pictures of my toddler mother filled the next few pages. Some had been taken on the same sofa I sat on now when the house belonged to my grandparents. In one of the photos, my mother sat on my grandfather’s lap. He’d died shortly after I was born. Although I’d seen photos of him, I’d never before realized he had been the one to pass on those distinct green eyes that I felt cheated out of.

In the next picture, my mom and Aunt Izzie stood side by side in front of a woodstove. My aunt’s expression reminded me of Cameron’s face this morning when he’d told me he was going to be a good big brother to Baby Sharon. Aunt Izzie had always been protective of her little sister.

“Nicole.”

I jumped at the sound of Aunt Izzie’s voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Put that down. Right now.” Her icy tone cooled the room better than central air could have.

I tightened my grip on the photo album and pulled it toward my chest. “They’re pictures of my mom as a kid. Why don’t you want me to see them?”

My aunt stared at me with an intense gaze and a piqued expression. She leaned sideways against the room divider as if she needed it for support. “Put it down.”

I flipped to another page. A picture of my mother riding on a bicycle with training wheels slipped out from under the protective plastic and fluttered to the floor.

Aunt Izzie strode across the room. I thought she was going to pick up the picture. Instead, she ripped the photo album away from me.

“They’re pictures of my mother. I want to see them.”

“I said no.”

“I don’t understand.”

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