Page 63 of Barefoot Dreams
Damn it, I knew.I knewwhat I was getting myself into and yet, I still did it. I knew Lily was sentimental and kept every scrap of paper with Cal’s or Julie’s scribbles on it. I just didn’t think she also kept mine and Luke’s as well. And maybe half the town’s.
There are at least fifty boxes here. Maybe more.
Definitely more. And these are not all of them too. After I tell her I’m out of space, she looks around her attic and the remaining items in there, puckers her lips and says, “I guess I’ll make it work.”
And I’m wondering if I’ll ever find the way to my bed sometime this month but it’s a worry for another day, because right now I need to get back to work.
Speaking of which, my phone rings and Luke’s name flashes.
“So, did you have a nice time bonding with your future mother-in-law?” There is no mistaking the amusement in his voice.
“If you think I’ll rise to that bait, you’re sorely mistaken,” I tell him, pushing one of the boxes on my couch so I can find the jacket I left here earlier.
“Spoilsport,” he mutters, and I chuckle into the phone. “Fine, no fun for you. When are you getting back into the station?”
“I should be there in ten minutes.As soon as I find this damn jacket.” I mutter that last part to myself, trying to move yet another box.
What are in these? Rocks?
Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s precisely what Lily has in there.
“Okay. Did you see if there’s too much damage left after Dean tried to build the shed today?” Luke asks, and I sigh. “Shit.” Luke interprets my sigh correctly. “How bad?”
“Let’s just say we’ll need all new material.” And that’s me putting it mildly. Somehow, Dean managed to screw up every piece and then some.
“Great,” Luke groans. “Remind me to murder Callum for leaving us to deal with this the next time we see him.”
I shift another box. Damn where is my stupid jacket? “Unless you plan to go out into the Pacific Ocean, I highly doubt he’ll ever show his face here.” I move to the kitchen. Maybe I left it in there.
Sure enough, I catch a glimpse of my sleeve under two huge boxes. “Finally,” I exclaim, tugging on the material.
“Finally, what?”
“Finally, I found my jacket. I’ll be there soo—” In hindsight, I should’ve just lifted the boxes off it, but I didn’t. I yank hard, and in the process send the top one to the floor, watching in slow motion as the contents freefall all. Over. The. Fucking. Floor. “Fuck!” I shout.
“What? What’s going on?” Luke inquires on the other side of the phone, which I’m now holding in between my shoulder and ear to try and gently pry my jacket after all this goddamn time and not trip the other box when I seewhatwas in the top box.
Are those…?
My mind goes blank yet I’m faintly aware of Luke shouting something but I can’t concentrate on his theatrics right now. Not when my heart is hammering wildly in my chest.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you soon,” I mutter, absentmindedly.
“That wasn’t—” Luke starts, but I click to end the call before he has a chance to finish and crouch next to the spilled contents of the box I just tipped over.
Diaries…
There are diaries all over my floor. Many, many colorful, crafty looking diaries. My throat goes dry and my hands start to shake because I think I know who they belong to.
One of the crafty, dainty diaries has landed on an open page. One that has my name on it—my full name—surrounded by intricate design of hearts and swirly lines and underneath it is a plus sign and…Julie Birdy Owling.
Owling… I stare at the name for what feels like hours, unmoving with the whole universe put on hold.
Is this a joke?
A prank?
I wonder, but the deep ache in my chest doesn’t think it’s either.
