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Panda woke up, rolled onto his back for belly tickles, then clambered down, playing with his toy mouse.
My gaze fixed on the old family photo hanging above the fireplace—a memory frozen in time, a reminder of the parents we’d lost too soon.
I loved the photo, one of those trendy photos from ages ago that was all about the kids climbing all over our parents, nothing formal. Mom was lying on the floor, her head in her hands, dark waves loose around her shoulders, and Dad was sitting cross-legged next to her, a hand in Mom’s hair. I remember he did that, played with her hair as they sat and watched television, twirling it around his fingers and letting the layers drape over his wrist. Mom was so beautiful, happy, a wide grin reaching her eyes, and Dad was so like me it was as if I were seeing my reflection. He’d started to go gray at fourteen, or so he’d warned us, and in this photo with him only in his thirties, he was as gray as I was. Somehow those genes hadn’t passed to Sutton and Trace, both dark-haired like Mom.
In the photo, I was twelve, Trace was four, and Sutton was only eighteen months and toddling hard. The three of us were all sitting on Mom’s back—Sutton and Trace were so young, and the gap between us so obvious when I was posing all serious, with a hand on Dad’s shoulder. Even back then, I’d been responsible, wrangling Sutton and Trace for the photo, and loved that my dad had been so proud.
Sometimes the weight of loss hung heavy in the air, even when I tried my hardest not to let it, because when I was halfway between nineteen and twenty, at college, Alice and Oscar Marshall had died. They’d been celebrating an anniversary. I’d come home from college to watch my siblings, and the bickering game had been on point when a voicemail pinged on my phone, which I ignored because playingCall of Dutywas more important. I don’t know to this day how much time passed between that voicemail and a knock, then the doorbell ringing, because it was all a blur.
I remember feeling irritable that someone knocked and used the bell.
I’d answered the door, and fuck, I’d wished I’d checked my phone first.
It was Janice from next door, Mom’s friend, and her face was white.
Had I checked the news? That was all she said before the tears started, and before my life imploded. A plane crash. Two hundred and twenty-three souls lost. News of the accident was everywhere. The news flooded in, a plane had gone down, my parents had died, and it was only later that night, when I thought to check my voicemail.
Mom, her voice nervous, banging and rattling in the background, telling me she didn’t think they were going to make it home, but that she loved us. Dad saying he loved us, and he was sorry. Both of them saying they weren’t scared.
Look after your brothers. Look after each other. We love you all so much.
Grief gripped me as I stared at the photo, loneliness washing over me as it had done since Sutton and Trace had left.
All of uswere in our suits for the funeral, everyone had left the wake, and Trace, with his dark curls and soulful eyes, leaned his head against my shoulder, seeking comfort. Sutton, broken and crying, held my hand and gripped it so hard I was numb.
“Arlo.” Sutton was the first to break the silence as we stared at the photo on the wall. “What are we going to do now? Do we have to leave school? What about my friends?”
Heart heavy with grief, I hugged them close. “We’re going to take things one step at a time. We’ll get through this together.”
Trace sniffed with tears flowing. “I want to stay here, where Mom and Dad were.”
“Me too.”
I sighed—whywas I sitting here losing myself in all those memories when I had work to do? I took the specs to the table and worked out a new schedule for the summer house project, but Panda coming back in the house distracted me enough that I stopped working. Restless, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and it was only nine, and I wasn’t tired. I petted with the cat, and he rolled onto his back exposing the snow-white of his belly, but I knew it was a trap. One pet too many, and his claws would dig into my hands—I’d learned that the hard way.
“You should be with your family,” I told him.
“Meow,” he responded, then gave a little chirrup of a purr before jumping down from the table and heading to the kitchen. I let him out, then sent a message to the chat group with Sutton and Trace—just a simple hey, that got a hey with a #IHatestudying from Sutton—and nothing at all from Trace.
That was okay—they were going to come out of college with degrees, make their mark on the world, and everything would go back to normal after that.
Maybe they’d get jobs close to here in San Diego, and we could be together again.
And I could stop fancying myself in love with a man who didn’t need me.
ChapterFifteen
Jax
The picture was sharp,the connection perfect, and I was seeing my girls’ faces for the first time since they’d left for Paris. We’d spoken, messaged, but actual FaceTime with the twins had been hit or miss, more due to them traveling around than anything else. I searched their faces for all the things that might have changed in the last week, and I only did that because so much had changed for me. What if, maybe, grown overnight, and I’d missed some great step forward in their lives? I didn’t want to miss a single minute.
“Daddy!” India exclaimed and waved at me, her red hair in pigtails, one higher than the other, which made me think it hadn’t been Paula who’d done her hair. Had it been Johan? He might be a good guy, and Paula and I might have split amicably, but that didn’t mean I could stop the feelings of jealousy. No pigtails I ever did would be so haphazard. I felt kind of smug about that, and if being a father was measured solely on level ,pigtails then I was the best freaking dad in the entire world.
“Daddy!” Iris added, her hair loose and long past her shoulders. They were only six, but their personalities were so different, despite being twins. India was all sass and confidence, boisterous and forever happy. Iris was quieter, preferred books to playing in the yard, and loved music. I wondered if Zach was out there as different to me as my girls were to each other. I wondered what he liked to do. Did he read? Did he enjoy building things? Was he a big Madonna fan?
“There are my girls! Are you having fun?”?”
“We went on the Peter Pan ride! And we met Mickey!”
