Page 87 of Point of No Return

I’m still wide-awake as I switch the TV off and tuck her safely beneath the blanket. I throw the spare cover over my brother, and before I can think too long about seeing them both so content like this, I stroll into the kitchen and grab a glass of water to drink.

There’s something about this house that settles the calamity inside me, something that cools the fire roaring in my blood. It isn’t until I look through the kitchen window at the water that I realize it’s because it makes me feel closer to my mother.

This was her house. Her memory is in every brick, every picture on the wall, every detail down to the white picket fence up front. Every memory I have of my summers here is filled with her gentle smile and her rambunctious laugh.

Those summers were full of sun and laughter and days spent without worries. They were the only time I ever felt like I could be a kid. I didn’t have to be an older brother. I didn’t have to be the heir to a powerful dynasty. I didn’t have to be anything but my mother’s son.

Those memories are something I cherish. But with them, I feel the loss of her too. I feel guilt because my brother doesn’t have those summers to look back on. My brother only had my father. It’s all he knows. And I’ve spent years hoarding memories of Lorelai to myself. I’ve been so unwilling to share her with anyone. Even my own brother.

And there’s no one to blame for that except myself. The thought compels me to climb the stairs toward the room where my mother used to stay. It’s the only room that remains untouched in the years since her death. I’ve updated the place, taken care of it, but this room is the same as it was before.

The cracking robin blue paint is the same. The ivory hope chest at the end of the bed is the same. The box of pictures on the floor of the closet is the same.

I take my time pulling the box open and sifting through the letters on top in my mother’s loopy, cursive hand. Beneath, pictures of my childhood reflect every sunshine-wrapped memory I have back at me. There’s a picture of baby Aleks in my arms and my mother laughs while looking at us. In it, I’m grinning at the camera, proudly showing off my scrawny teenaged arms.

In others, I’m jumping off the dock or I’m in the old boat we used to take out on the river. In all of them, my mother is lovingly looking at her sons like we’re the air she breathes. In all of them, she looks happy.

When she died, she probably was. Even while in a loveless, abusive marriage, my mother was never happier than when she had us in her arms. And it’s something I want Aleks to remember more than anything else: Happiness. Not the mess of a childhood we had after she died.

I leaf through the thick stack of photos in the box, and it isn’t until I get to the bottom that I find a yellowing slip of paper. I unfurl it, and when I see what’s on the page, my chest feels tight. It’s a contract. An old one and scrawled across the page is my father’s signature… and Eva’s.

It’s dated fourteen years ago, and realization is bitter in my throat. This piece of paper started it all. And whether my mother had anything to do with it or not, it makes me realize how far my father was willing to go to ensure this union. He was nothing if not committed. But he didn’t give a fuck about happiness.

Maybe that’s why I close the box, propping it on my arm as I take one last lingering look around the room… and I shut the door behind me. I carry the box downstairs, and as I settle at the kitchen table, I make a vow to myself…

My family will know happiness again. Even if I have to tear everything down and start over again.

The water laps at my shoulders, the gentle waves cool on my skin. Early morning swims used to be an everyday ritual. A way to clear my head. Now there’s probably not a damn thing that can keep my head from wandering.

I place both my hands on the dock and lift myself up as I shake water out of my hair. Even tiring myself out isn’t working. Eventually, my mind always wanders back to Charlotte. She practically lives in my head. And I don’t know what’s worse: The fact that I can’t get her out of my head or the fact that I don’t want to.

The back door opens, and I hear Charlotte’s easy-going laugh as she and Aleks step out onto the porch. He’s saying something to her, and she’s laughing again, the sweet sound carrying on the wind.

She’s smiling. Really smiling, and something like envy swells in my gut, surprising enough that I almost don’t realize they’re headed my way. She’s smiling for him, and I must be positively insane to be jealous of my kid brother for it. Grabbing a towel from the dock beside me, I dry off as they stroll down the boardwalk. I yank on a shirt, and Aleks plops down in one of the chairs, grinning as he drops a picnic basket onto the table.

“Guess who made lunch.” He’s digging out the contents as he says it, but I’m already focused on not staring at her as she approaches a few steps behind.

She’s wearing her floppy straw hat again and a bright blue bikini that’s only covered by a loosely buttoned dress shirt overtop. And as I lean my hip against the table and openly watch her, it’s hard to hide my grin when I realize it’smyshirt- one she must’ve taken from home.

“If you made it, I think I’ll pass,” I tell him absently.

Damn, does my shirt look good on her.

She kicks off her sandals, casually pushing her glasses on and offering a sassy little smirk as she pushes past me. Her arm brushes my chest as she reaches forward and pulls out three sandwiches.

“Getting food poisoning from my own cooking once was enough for me. She, however, made sandwiches,” he points her way again.

“Nice shirt.” I eye the thin material as her eyes drop to my chest. More importantly to the sopping wet shirt across it.

“You swim fully clothed now?”

If only she knew…

Luckily, Aleks says nothing when I glance over at him, but I smirk down at her anyways. “Are you complaining?”

I can practically feel the way her eyes roll from behind her glasses. She hobbles to the edge of the dock, spreading out a towel to sit on and dangling her legs over the water. She motions toward the last sandwich on the table.

“Your brother argued that it would be to my benefit not to let you starve.”

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