Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Her eyes shine with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. I reach over across the breakfast nook she is leaning against and hold her hand. “I know,” I say.
“Joe tells me you helped him in San Francisco. He was so happy to write again. That’s really kind of you.” She wipes her eyes quickly.
Brad walks into the kitchen and silently tucks tea bags into mugs.
“Oh, he was a lifesaver for me too,” I say. I also mean that literally.
Gemma looks like she is about to say something more but then shakes her head, as if ridding herself of an unpleasant thought.
“I made some lemon custard cookies.” She pushes off the breakfast nook, opens a Tupperware, and arranges the cookies onto a decorative plate. “You take your tea with one sugar, correct?”
I nod as I sit at the breakfast nook. Gemma and Brad both approach me with the tea and cookies, nervous smiles on their faces. I take one cookie and start munching it, surprised that I can taste it. I haven’t been able to taste things since Dom died.
“We wanted to apologize again,” Gemma says, “for the whole ordeal with Sarah. How humiliating it must have been to both of you. I can only imagine how much more complex it made an already impossible situation.”
“It’s all right,” I say, and I mean it. This past week, I’ve felt the pain brush past me, as opposed to going through me. It’s like getting pushed by a stranger while hurrying to catch a train. Not like being run over by one.
“It’s not,” Brad says, toying with the cookie on his plate but not eating it. “But there’s nothing we can do about it, unfortunately.”
“Really, it doesn’t matter now,” I say. Then, remembering why I’m here, I hurry to remove the engagement ring from my finger. I slide it across the breakfast nook.
“Here. I want you to have it.”
“Nonsense, Lynne. He gave it to you,” Gemma says, but her eyes sparkle when they land on the ring. Another thing her son left behind.
“It’s Ever,” I correct her. It’s good to claim my name—my identity—back. “And even though I’ll always cherish the day Dom asked me to marry him, I need to move on. And the truth is, I think it belongs to you more than it belongs to me. It’s a love song to you. He wanted to make you happy.”
Gemma looks down, then starts crying. I notice it’s not the same dark, hopeless sobs that tore from her body all those months ago. It’s a cleansing, grateful cry. She smiles and pats my shoulder before brushing her tears away.
“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate it.”
“You should try it on.”
She hesitates for only a moment before going for it. It sits perfectly on her bony middle finger. She admires it, tilting her hand here and there, watching the diamond catching the last of the afternoon sunrays slipping through the big bay windows.
“It’s really beautiful,” she says.
“It looks right at home on your finger.”
She looks up. “Are you truly doing okay?”
Nodding, I realize that I am. Things are still far from ideal, but I’m not unhappy anymore.
Gemma rubs at her cheek distractedly. I can tell something is eating at her, but she doesn’t know how to approach the subject. She shoots Brad a look. He jerks his chin once, the movement barely there, to tell her to go ahead. What the hell is happening?
“Ly . . . Ever,” she corrects, her skin flushing slightly. “I have an unusual request.”
“Unusual is my expertise. Fire away.”
“Can you come with me to the attic for a second? There’s something I want to show you.”
I follow her up the stairs to the second floor and watch as she pops open the hatch for the attic. She pulls the ladder down, and we both climb inside. It’s the first time I’ve been in an attic. The place is surprisingly broad and unsurprisingly woody. It smells of dust and naphthalene. It is full to the brim with crates and boxes. They are all labeled. I drink it all in. The right-hand side of the attic is full of stuff with the name Dominic labeled on each box, and the left-hand side belongs to Seph.
I find it ironic that even the brothers’ possessions look like they’re having a standoff. And here I am, again, standing in the middle, between the two of them.
“Your sons sure have a lot of stuff.” I try to crack the tense mood with a joke. It immediately falls flat between us. Gemma shoots me an uncertain look. Whatever she brought me here for, it is making her anxious.
I swallow hard. “Gemma? Why am I here?”
She slants her head toward the pile of Seph boxes. I follow her footsteps. She grabs a shoebox sitting atop a big cardboard box and holds it away from her body, as if it could bite her.