Page 84 of Keeper
“What if there was something out there that blasted out all of those memories? The good and the bad. What if there was something out there that made everything from the past disappear and all you could see are new memories to be made?”
“There is absolutely nothing out there that will help erase what’s already been done. It’s burned into my memory.”
“Poppy,” Indie states, her voice firmer than I’ve ever heard it. “I think you’re incredible, but you’re dead wrong.”
“Dead wrong,” Belle repeats.
Their serious faces have me completely curious now.
“Come with us, Poppy,” Belle states one last time. “There’s something you have to see.”
“All right,” I finally agree and follow them to the front door. I slip into my flats and guide them around to the back.
The sun is just beginning to set as we walk through the garden of my parents’ estate. The golden tones saturate the green grass and manicured flowers in stunning light. We pass through the gate that leads into an open grassy knoll and then reach the edge of the woods where the park begins. It’s a beautiful five minute walk amongst the mature pine, oak, and elm trees. Since it’s the height of summer, everything’s very green and lush. Idyllic really under normal circumstances.
It’s been over six years since the last time I’ve been out here, so I’m surprised to find the path I wore down over time is still present. Sadness creeps over me as I think about the lifetime of memories this wooded park holds. I keep my head down and try to steel myself for how I’ll feel when we reach the area where Booker and I played the most.
When we draw closer, a white paper bag with a burning candle inside catches my eye. My head snaps up to find two rows of burning lanterns lighting a path to the place my fallen tree used to sit. The tree that once laid there with moss growing up the sides is gone. The place where I sang countless songs upon. A couple other trees that occupied the area are now cleared out as well. In their place is a bright yellow painted structure that looks like a children’s playhouse. But it’s even more stunning because it’s a bit of a ramshackle design—rickety and topsy-turvy, like a cartoon house. It even has a covered porch with thick, knotty tree branches for rails and an overflowing flower box in the window. Whomever built this put loads of time into it.
“What’s happened out here?” I ask, my voice breathy and awestruck. “Do you know who did this?”
I turn and look over to Indie’s water eyes as she answers, “Who do you think?”
My jaw drops. “When? Why? H-h-how?” I stammer.
Belle touches my arm and answers, “He made it for your baby.”
My breath catches and my head snaps back and forth between them. I cover my mouth and mumble, “You guys know?”
Belle laughs and says, “The Harrises have no secrets, darling. You should know that better than anyone.”
I laugh like a moron because she’s totally right. Suddenly, I see movement out of the corner of my eye and look over to see Booker walking out from behind the house. He’s dressed in a pair of filthy jeans with holes in the knees and a white T-shirt with yellow paint splattered all over it. His arms and face are caked in sweat and dirt.
He looks gorgeous.
And completely nervous as he tries to smooth back some of his wild dark locks spackled with paint. “I planned on cleaning up before you got here, but it turns out I’m not very handy. At all,” he laughs. “And I greatly underestimated how long this would take.”
We laugh awkwardly as Belle and Indie begin to back away. I hear their retreating footsteps behind me, but my eyes are zeroed in on Booker. He’s covered in dirt, but with the golden sunlight slicing in behind him, I’m not sure he’s ever looked more handsome.
I walk a little closer and stand in front of the mini porch to get a better look. It’s truly exquisite, right down to the adorably crooked front door. “What is all of this?”
“It’s a playhouse,” he replies and stuffs his hands in his pockets. The manly scent wafting off of him is so familiar, I have to stop myself from moving closer to him.
Smiling, I reply, “I can see that. But why did you build it?”
“Because I want a place to create new memories with you, Poppy.”
My heart sinks. “Booker, this doesn’t change—”
He cuts me off. “Because I’m an arse and I screwed up when we were kids, but I swear on my life, Poppy, I never slept with Sidney out here. She told me she loved me and tried to use sex to manipulate me into saying things I didn’t feel. The second she did, I knew we were over. I never slept with her that night or any night. And I certainly never loved her. I’ve never said those words to her or anyone who isn’t family. Ever.”
I purse my lips together and beg my chin to stop quivering. Hearing him say all of this soothes a dark part of my anxious, troubled soul. But not all of it. There’s still a huge segment that needs more. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not thrilled to hear that, Booker. But it’s only part of the problem between us.”
“I know,” he replies in a hurry. “But I needed you to know that before I tell you the rest.”
“What’s the rest?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest for protection. This is so painful. Every moment of my insecure childhood is looking me right in the face. I feel like I could crawl out of my own skin.
“Sidney asked me to bring her out here because I would never shut up aboutyou. About how specialyouwere. About how I wished more girls were likeyou. I took her to that hospital charity last year because you weren’t here, and Sidney feels safe because I feel nothing for her. The whole time you were in Germany, I never settled down with anyone because they weren’tyou. Poppy, I’ve never discussed pet names with a girl before. Or invited them to my matches. I’ve certainly never brought them to Harris Sunday dinners. I need you to know that you’re different.”
