Page 37 of Dibs
“Neon ones,” Deacon adds as he puts the photo into a hat box along with others he plans to keep. “That one’s getting framed. Oh, here’s another. Look how cute you were, fast asleep.”
He hands it over, and I smile down at the image of me asleep in Deacon’s lap on a couch, my hair splayed all around him. The back of the photo states it was about five years earlier.
“Drunk on ginger beer,” I recall. “And sick to my stomach from too many chocolate-covered cherries.”
Deacon laughs. “Those were expensive. I got them for you when I had to travel to Denver a couple of days before Christmas.”
“You were the one who got them for me? I think Sean took the credit.” I roll my eyes as I hand the picture back.
“That’s what Sean was good at. Not showing any thoughtfulness and stealing the credit.” Deacon harrumphs and then adds, “And yes to the black romper. It’s adorable.”
I add it to the growing keep container as I hear the rain pitter-patter on the roof above us. It’s been coming down steadily all day long, but at least it’s not snow. Yet. Though, at least in the snow, there was fun to be had on snowmobiles, skis, and going ice fishing.
“Winter’s just around the bend,” Deacon says as if he were reading my mind. “You should go through my mom’s coats in the front hall closet. She has a plum-colored peacoat that would look stunning on you.”
I turn on my heel and follow his directions, staring at many adorable scarves I find hanging inside the closet. Her Chanel peacoat fits me perfectly, so I grab a few scarves and take the coats back up to the closet.
Deacon is sitting on the floor with his shoulder shaking, and my heart constricts. I drop the items, kneel between his legs awkwardly, and pull him into my arms. His wet face rests on my neck as he continues to cry, his shoulders heaving.
“Let it out,” I encourage him, my hand in his messy blond waves as I hold him tight. His hands tangle in my hair as he tugs me even closer. “It’s okay, Deacon. You’re going to be okay.”
“I can’t believe this house is going to belong to someone else,” Deacon manages through his sobs.
“I know it hurts, honey, and it’s okay to feel that. But hopefully, someone buys it and can fill it up with all the love this house has seen from your family over the years. And your dad can find something smaller that fits him just right without daily reminders of everything he’s lost. That’s what he needs to do to cope.”
Deac nods and sniffles, pulling back to stare into my eyes. “I never thought I’d lose Mom like that. Nine months, you know? Then, poof. Gone.”
Tears course down his cheeks, and I wipe them away with my fingertips. I slide my hand through his golden locks and inch forward, bringing my lips to his tears as I kiss them away tenderly.
“They told us six months to three years. Why couldn’t it have been three years?” Deacon cries angrily. “There’s so much I wish she could be here for.”
“It wasn’t fair. It never is.” I wipe his tears. “But you have to believe she’s looking down from somewhere peaceful, proud of the way you’ve been living your life, Deacon.” I mop up the area beneath his eyes. I notice the dark circles and wonder if he’s been having trouble sleeping. “And please, Deac, let me be here for you. I’m strong enough to shoulder some of your grief. To hold it for you, so you can set it down once in a while.”
Deacon nods and dries his tears. “You know, I have to believe, long after we’re dead and gone, there’s somewhere we’ll all be together again after this is over. That love is an eternal bond that will let us find each other again.” Deacon clasps my hands in his and lets me see the depth of his grief for Lillian.
Kneeling, I press my chest to his, and I stare into his ocean eyes. “Then, there is. There’s a wonderful place where nothing ever ends, nothing is so painfully temporary, and there’s no more loss. Somewhere meant for reunions. If you believe it, I believe it.”
He wraps his arms around me and whispers, “I like to think she tap-danced her way to what’s waiting for all of us after.”
I smile, remembering his mother’s affinity for dance, and I picture it in my head—her dancing away as the curtain closed on her final performance.
I burst into tears, and then we’re both blubbering messes, clutching one another and feeling our collective loss deeply in a closet that still smells like Lillian’s perfume.
20
DEACON
Thursday, I take off work. It’s nice working for yourself and setting your hours, for moments like these. My receptionist slash assistant knows I’ll be gone, so she puts out any of the little fires that arise throughout the day.
Meanwhile, I turn my bedroom and bathroom into the rose section of my local grocer, placing soft, velvety petals in a heart design on the bed and creating a fragrant aisle on the ground that leads to the bedroom. I know I’m being overly hopeful, but I feel closer than ever to Beck after we’d held each other, and she’d kissed away my tears in my mother’s bedroom last night.
It’s been a month since Sean and Beck ended their relationship. Maybe I’m an optimist thinking Beck is closer to being ready to consider me now. Every day is agonizing, trying to keep my hands to myself when she lives under my roof and steals my hoodies every night. I want to give her time, but I don’t want to waste it. Life is never promised; I learned that when my mother took her last breath, still so young and vibrant. Is it wrong of me to remind Beck what we could have had if only that day ten years ago had gone differently?
When Beck gets home, I miss my opportunity because she runs up the stairs with a bag in her hands and tells me, “I’ll be down in a bit!”
I sit on the couch for an hour, lost in thought. Why had Beck pulled away from me over the last weeks? I try to trace my memories back to the moment it happened.
That’s when it hits me. It’s so obvious, I feel like an absolute idiot.
