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“Sure,” I lied.
“How did it go with the fake date?”
“It didn’t happen.”
“You didn’t do it? Shit, Arlo, that was our plan.”
“I arranged it all, and I told him, but he didn’t react how you said he might, and… look, it’s a long story.”
“Okay, if lying didn’t work, then you need to be honest and ask Jax for a date. Tell him how you feel.”
I thought about Charlie, and Zach, and how blindsided Jax had been, and how he’d said I didn’t need to stay. What part of that made it easy for me to tell him how I felt? He needed a friend, and I could be that friend.
Shouting caught Sutton’s attention, and he turned his head. “I gotta go. I don’t want to be late!”
“Go! I’ll send the money.”
“Love you, Arls.”
“Love you too, Sutt.” I was talking to a blank screen; he was already gone, but I was left with the feeling it could just be me and Trace for Thanksgiving.
I pushed the melancholy aside and made my way up to the attic. My anticipation grew with every minute at getting the crib down and tidied up for Charlie. I knew the Marshall heirloom was hidden away somewhere amidst the attic’s collection of forgotten treasures. I could even picture the intricate designs my great-grandfather had carved into the wood, and the designs my grandpa, then Dad, had added, and something that felt akin to inspiration tingled in my fingers when I imagined what I could do to the crib as well.
The last time I’d visited the attic was when I’d spent a rainy afternoon up there with Sutton and Trace—the three of us still reeling from Mom and Dad dying—choosing, and then storing away, some of our parents’ things because tangible reminders of our loss were too painful to see. We promised we’d all go back up and remember them through their belongings, but it hadn’t happened yet—not in eleven years—but maybe one day soon, when we weren’t grieving losing our parents so young. The three of us had somehow learned a life without Mom and Dad, but not one of us had said we wanted to search through the things we’d stored.
That day hadn’t happened yet, and I wasn’t sure it would ever happen now that my brothers had left home. I would be left with the attic to organize when we put the place on the market. I pushed open the door, a gust of stale air, heavy with the scent of old things and dust swept over me, and I entered the space frozen in time.
There was a solitary cobweb-covered window, and faint light struggled to penetrate the thick layers of dust hanging in the air, casting long, eerie lines across the uneven wooden floor. I pulled the cord for the central light, half expecting it not to work, surprised and somewhat relieved when it did. There were way too many ghosts up here from my parents’ lives to be searching by the light of my cell phone. The light filled the corners, but it showed the marked boxes, each holding pieces of my parents’ unfinished story. I didn’t want to check inside a box markedphotos, or the one that hadmiscwritten on the side, or search any other fragments of their story—I wanted to find a family heirloom that I knew was up here somewhere. I began to sift through the cloths laid over random piles, sneezing as the dust was churned up.
Pushing aside layers of dusty sheets and moth-eaten blankets, I unearthed the crib, hidden beneath Christmas decorations, which I should probably bring down as well, given it was only a couple of weeks until Thanksgiving, and a pile of old suitcases holding long-forgotten items. I eased the crib out from behind the boxes of decorations, and tugged it into the space under the lightbulb.
This crib was a labor of love, handcrafted by my great-grandfather for his new baby boy—my grandad—many years ago. Trace, Sutton, and I had used it as well, and despite the passage of time, it was still solid with small scars of wear and tear. Two of its slender bars were cracked, but I could fix that when I sanded and smoothed the old wood. I imagined carving a design next to the tiny teddy bears that were already there—maybe a moon and some stars.
Charlie would like that.
And Jax might too.
And I could visit without even being asked.
ChapterThirteen
Jax
Saturday mergedinto Sunday and had become a whirlwind of diapers, baby formula, and sleeplessness. I’d managed an online order for everything I needed, plus extra groceries for me, but the rest of it was a mess I navigated one thing at a time. Having a baby to care for wasn’t new—I’d been present in my girls’ lives when they were babies—still married, through toddling, first words, sleepless nights. In theory, I knew all about childcare, however, in practice , I’d forgotten a lot, particularly just how much mess one small baby can create. I’d always been a creature of habit, running my construction business, managing the projects, and enjoying a predictable routine in my organized house with its pristine office and organized paperwork. But with Charlie in my life, predictability was going to become a distant memory, and so was going to work on the projects we had running.
Icouldask my parents for help, but Mama had a part-time job at a dentist’s office that she loved, and Papa was still a teacher, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, leave them to look after a baby when, in my heart, I’d not only accepted the responsibility from Zach, but I already loved Charlie as if he were my own.
My cell vibrated, and all I could think was that Arlo was checking in on me, and maybe, he was saying he was coming back.
It wasn’t him, and the disappointment was real.
Leo: How’s it going?
I tapped the screen and attempted to type one handed as I carefully fed Charlie his mashed banana.
Jax: Okay
Leo: Jason wants to visit, so does Daisy, can we come over after school on Monday?
