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)
“I’ve been doing a lot of tidying up recently. Especially in the attic. It was a combination of things. I needed something to take my mind off Dominic and was also inspired by how Seph found my first-date dress in our old attic. I wanted to see what treasures I could find that would lead me to memories of Dominic.”
I wait for her to continue. I’m not sure what she is holding, but since it has Joe’s name on it, I can safely assume it has nothing to do with me. We didn’t exchange anything in Spain. Other than bodily fluids and phone numbers, and those don’t count.
Gemma smiles sadly. “Dominic was always such a sweet child. With a strong moral compass and a lot of compassion toward others. He always treated wounded animals in our backyard and was the first to approach a new kid who moved into our neighborhood. This somewhat changed after he was diagnosed with cancer. He became understandably angry. And then he beat the cancer and went back to being the Dominic we loved and adored. Then he thought he had cancer again, when he was in his early twenties.”
I remember Dom telling me about it. I remember being horrified for him. I remember all of it like it was yesterday.
“Yes?” I ask her quietly, to encourage her to keep talking.
She opens the shoebox—finally—and takes out something that looks like a piece of paper. “Last week, when Seph was in San Francisco to complete his book, I started going through his things, because I was done with Dominic’s side of the attic. I came across this.”
She hands me a small piece of paper. Only it’s not a paper. It’s a photo. The Polaroid photo Joe took of me on the beach in Spain. My mouth drops open. My breath is stuck inside my throat, like a bone. My lips are puffy and my hair is a mess, and I look at the camera—at him—with so much emotion it makes me choke. The love I have for him is raw. The intimacy is palpable. I can feel this photo imprinting itself onto my DNA.
He kept it. All these years. He didn’t throw it away. Didn’t burn it in a small, controlled fire like I thought he would.
“The interesting thing about this photo,” Gemma starts, “is that in the backdrop, you can see Neptuno de Melenara, the famous statue, so I knew it was taken in the Canary Islands, and by Seph. But the photo . . .” She sucks in a breath. “It looked familiar, and I realized why. I’d already seen it, on Christmas Day. Dom was holding it after he’d gone up to the attic to get his sports gear.”
I shake my head, tears spilling on my cheek. “I had no idea, Gemma, I swear. I had no idea they were brothers before Christmas. And Dom didn’t either. He must’ve found out then.”
“I figured as much.” She wraps her fingers around my arms, jerking me to her in a hug. “Listen now, Ever. You have to listen to me.” She pulls away, holding my cheeks in her hands. We blink at each other. “Life’s too short. Way too short. If you love Seph . . . if Seph loves you . . .”
She doesn’t complete the sentence. She can’t. Anything she says would be a betrayal to one of her sons. She is torn. Me, not so much. I no longer feel an obligation toward Dominic. I just don’t know if Joe and I are each other’s fate. Every time we come together, something terrible happens. I don’t want any more casualties in this game of cat and mouse we play. Our love seems to be the bloodied, thorny kind. Something occurs to me, then.
“Gemma . . .”
“Yes?”
“Remember the wooden boat I got Dom?” I’m sure she does. She helped me pack his bedroom after he passed away.
Gemma nods, frowning at me. “What about it?”
“Where is it?”
She presses her lips together, her eyes downcast. Like she shouldn’t tell. “Joe took it,” she says, finally.
“Thank you, Gemma.”
“No, thank you. For loving both my sons . . . and, although during different periods of time, making both of them happy.”
The journey to Salem is a blur. When I arrive at my old apartment, Joe is waiting for me outside, sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. Flattened cardboard boxes are tucked under his arm. My heart hiccups as my eyes take in his beautiful face. I can’t look at him and not think about the fact that he kept the photo. That he has endured so much from Dom, from his family, from me.
“You didn’t have to come.” I get out of the cab and give him a hug.
“Nothing beats moving your ass out of this shithole.” He lifts my left hand and examines it. He notices the change right away, which means it’s the first thing he looks at every time he sees me. He holds my left hand and turns it here and there. “No ring.”