Page 47 of Heartbeat

Liam had an entire wall of photos, carefully arranged in a way that made sense mostly only to him, which basically contained every moment of our lives, from the time we were in kindergarten to his senior year at Magnolia. However, there was a method to his madness. The pictures seemed to ripple outward, with the older ones at the edges and the newest photos spiraling inward, completing an elaborate mosaic of time and memory.

I tilted my head, spotting my very favorite photo of the two of us. Liam and I, proudly posing with gold medals between our teeth, our arms around each other, looking so unbelievably happy.

“No, she’s gone.” Emma slowly shook her head.

The way she’d uttered those words broke my heart.

“I know what you mean.” I squinted at the very photo I’d been reminiscing about moments before. “I see myself in these and all I can think is how much I’d like to know where that guy went.”

“I saw him, a couple of times. Last night.”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t there.”

“The hair’s longer. He’s paler… I got glimpses though. Once or twice,” she said, smiling kindly when she turned to face me.

We sat there, in comfortable silence for the moments that followed until, eventually, she let out a long sigh.

“I miss him, Tommy.”

“I know, Em,” I said quietly. “I know.”

“You’re the only one we told; did you know that?”

I nodded.

“I like that you know.” She said it more to herself than to me.

I didn’t say anything. There was nothing I could say to her, not then.

“Did it— Did that have anything to do with why you did what you did?” She suddenly seemed so scared.

“No!” I shook my head. “Nothing.” I needed to be very clear. “I’m glad I was there. I’m glad I went with you. I just wish I could help more.”

She smiled, entirely for my benefit. “There’s nothing that can help.” She shook her head while shedding a single tear.

She was so beautiful. Even when crying she was somehow elegant.

“Yeah,” I sighed after another few seconds of silence. “Fucking prick,” I said, making her chuckle.

“Fucking prick,” she repeated, wiping her eyes.

“What do you say we get some coffee? I can make you those white-chocolate pancakes you like.”

“I do love your pancakes,” she said, trying to seem excited.

“Just come downstairs when you’re ready.”

I got up and started for the door. “For what is worth?” I said, turning with one hand on the knob. “You’ll always be my big sister.”

She smiled. Like she used to do, before. It made me think that, maybe, she was right; maybe we did get to have glimpses every now and again.

“Tommy?”

“Huh?”

“I, uh—I’ll be right down.”

“No hurry. I’m not going anywhere.”

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