Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“You’re not going to see him,” I mutter, even as I put on a little mascara and tinted lip gloss.
I grab my purse and keys, walking swiftly to the garage.
“And even if you were,” I remind myself in the rearview mirror as I back into the driveway. “It’s not like that. You need to get this under control.”
What more do I need to see to understand that Josiah has moved on, and it’s time for me to do the same?
I pull into the driveway of his stout dark blue craftsman house with the pale gray shutters. It has nowhere near the square footage of our house, but it accommodates a bedroom for each kid and a bonus room in the basement Josiah uses as an office when he’s not at Grits. He doesn’t have a garage, but just a covered space for his car. The Rover’s not parked out front, confirming that he’s not home. Instead of ringing the doorbell, I use my key to let myself in. I automatically turn to disarm the system on the wall with the passcode, Byrd’s birthday, but it doesn’t beep.
“Getting careless in your old age, Si?” I look around the foyer to note the changes. Josiah has, understandably, redecorated the place.
“Very Restoration Hardware,” I say as I pass the living room with its sleek lines and textured finishes. A bottle of wine and two glasses sit on the table in the center of the room. One guess who that other glass was for.
“Let me get out of here before my imagination starts filling in the gaps.”
Deja’s and Kassim’s bedrooms are down the hall directly across from each other, so I march in that direction. As soon as I walk into Kassim’s room, I spot the remote on his desk.
Grabbing it, I turn to leave, but halt when I catch sight of the photo tucked into the corner, sandwiched between the pristine Rubik’s Cube Kassim refuses to touch, referring to it as “vintage,” and his Black Panther bobblehead still unopened in its box. It’s the last family portrait we ever took. We’re outdoors and Kassim looks so young, his smile wide and careless, like now, but with missing teeth. Deja was still in elementary school, and only looking at this photo do I fully grasp her innocence—an emotional purity, something untouched by pain and loss and grief. Deja stares out at the world now with fewer illusions. There’s an unguardedness to the young girl in the photo with pigtails brushing the shoulders of her Disney Descendants T-shirt.
I want to reach into that photo and hold my children tight, shield them from the pending storm none of us saw coming.
My eyes shift, almost reluctantly, to Josiah. He’s standing behind me, and my head rests back on his shoulder in easy intimacy. Our fingers link across my stomach, and there’s a secret contentment to us. We hadn’t even told the kids yet I was pregnant with Henry, and in this frozen moment, we were the only two people on the planet who knew. We wanted to keep and nurture this secret for ourselves as long as we could. My whole world fit on this four-by-six photo, the boundaries of my happiness inside this frame.
Reminiscing, second-guessing, remembering…I don’t have the time and I haven’t come far enough to look back this way. This day, though years ago, still feels too close. If I close my eyes, I’ll feel the crisp autumn air, see the color-splattered leaves, smell the man standing behind me, and taste my future. I swipe impatiently at the tears I hadn’t even realized trickled over my cheeks and pull up short to find Vashti standing in the door. We both jump like we’ve seen ghosts.
“Oh, my God,” she laughs, pressing a hand to her chest. “I thought I heard someone. You scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry. I…” The words dry on my tongue when I take in what she’s wearing.
The hem of Josiah’s white dress shirt hits her leanly muscled legs a few inches above her knees. It’s unbuttoned just below her bare breasts. She’s one of those girls I envied growing up, with the perky tits that barely constitute a palmful and who can go out without a bra.
“I didn’t expect anyone,” Vashti says, mascara from the night before smudged beneath her eyes and her lips still faintly pink with vestiges of color. “Josiah has a standing Monday morning—”
“Basketball game, yeah.”
I want to scream at her that I know his schedule, his life, better than she does. That I know him better than she does, but she knew him last night in a way I have not in a very long time. Intimately. Carnally.
Fuckily.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” I continue, not wanting to appear rattled. “Kassim left his remote thingy…um…for the science fair, I mean project. Assignment. It’s an assignment, not a fair. Or a project. And so…he called and I came because Josiah isn’t here. So…yeah.”