Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
A BOX OF MEM ORIES
Caroline
My parents’ house was quiet. It was Monday afternoon, so my dad was still at work, and my mom always volunteered at the animal shelter until after five. Which meant I had a few hours to myself.
With a shaking hand, I pushed open the door to my childhood home and slipped the key back into my bag.
I wasn’t sure why it felt so strange to walk inside. I’d been there somewhat recently for a family dinner and my aunt’s birthday. It shouldn’t have felt foreign, but it did. And I had to attribute it to the reason I was there.
The entryway was lined with family photos, mostly of my sister and her family, but there were a few of me sprinkled among them. Likely my dad’s doing.
I walked past the gallery walls and into the kitchen and living room at the back of the house. Nothing was askew, just as my mom liked it. Each item had its place, and it would never be found anywhere else. If anything, I got that one thing from my mother.
But I didn’t stop to look around. To the right, I took the stairs up to the second floor and headed toward the door at the end of another hallway lined with photographs. It wasn’t until I braced my trembling hand on the brass doorknob that I stopped and considered what I was doing.
What waited for me behind the door, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face. I knew I needed to, that it was time, but I didn’t want to do it more than I’d ever not wanted to do anything else.
The breath I sucked in through my nose shook almost as much as my hand. My pulse was racing, and I felt the uncanny urge to sprint the opposite direction. But standing at the door was like standing at the precipice of my future, and I had to take that step.
I pushed open the door and braced myself for…nothing. Because it was just a room. And I reminded myself of that when I shuffled around the new guest bed that had replaced the one I’d grown up sleeping in and when I approached the closet door that once held my belongings.
Another door, another moment of hesitation.
“ Fuck ,” I muttered under my breath and dropped my bag on the floor next to me. My anxiety was frustrating yet unavoidable. When I tugged the door open, a large picture frame tumbled toward me along with at least six different types of holiday wrapping paper.
I lunged for everything and only managed to grab the edge of the frame and one roll of paper before everything else fell out unceremoniously around me. With a huff, I righted the frame and propped the rolls in one of the back corners. The disruption had allowed me to momentarily forget about my anxiety or my purpose.
Until I looked up at the top shelf and spotted the box I was looking for. My hands shook as I grabbed it, and it nearly fell, too. I managed to catch it awkwardly in my arms before I set it on the bed and stared at the worn cardboard.
The edges were scratched, and the corners were torn. There were w ords written in black marker across each side, most of them scratched out.
But two words were still intact: Caroline & Daniel.
I ran my fingers over my mom’s loopy script and sucked in a sharp breath as I pulled it open. The first thing to greet me made my knees buckle, and I slouched on the edge of the bed for support.
One hand covered my mouth to stifle the sob I could feel rising while the other lifted our prom photo out of the box.
My light purple dress was peak mid-2000s fashion, and Daniel’s bow tie matched perfectly. We’d spent an hour at the department store sifting through options with a swatch of my dress. And he’d never complained once.
I set the picture aside, squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, and returned to the box. There was my dried corsage from that same night and ticket stubs from movies and concerts we’d seen together. Below even more photographs I couldn’t bring myself to look at for too long, I found the football jersey he’d given me at his final high school game.
That was when the first tear fell. Hesitantly, I lifted it to my nose and breathed deeply. Only after the odor of age and cardboard hit my nose did I realize I still expected it to smell like him.
I quickly dropped it and reached for the one thing I was after.
I sat on the bed and crossed my legs, setting the scrapbook on my lap.
It was page after page of our relationship, a timeline that included all our biggest moments—like high school graduation and moving to college—as well as the smaller ones that we weren’t likely to remember. The time we went to the pumpkin patch or the aquarium.
My heart thumped against my chest, and I let myself remember it all for a moment.
The car crash. The hospital. The machines. The scrapbook I made f or when he woke up, so I could help him remember our life together.
The funeral and the heartbreak.
The car crash happened on our way back to school after summer break. We were laughing, listening to music, nothing out of the ordinary. Until a truck ran a red light going almost twice the speed limit and slammed into us. We spun and flipped and didn’t stop until we collided with a pole on the opposite side of the intersection.
I didn’t remember much after that until I woke up in a hospital bed the next morning. I had bruises, scrapes, and a concussion that resulted in a brutal headache. There weren’t any lasting injuries.
Daniel wasn’t so lucky.
He took most of the impact. He broke more bones than I thought possible and most of his body was bruised. But it was the traumatic brain injury he suffered that turned out to be fatal.
The moment I woke up in the hospital, I’d demanded to see him. There were wires and bandages everywhere. But he looked so peaceful lying there.
I’d spent nearly six years of my life with him, so when the doctors said he may not wake up or, if he did, he would likely have many obstacles to overcome, including memory lapses and loss, I made the scrapbook. Every memory I could think of, I added to it. I wanted him to remember as quickly as he could the little part of life we’d shared together.
I sat beside his bed for weeks, creating the book and talking to him. Just being with him.
But he never recovered. Now, all I had left of him was a crumbling cardboard box and a fucking scrapbook.
Daniel’s death left me raw and heartbroken. And the relationship that followed it was the catalyst for all my barriers.
Flipping through the book was both cathartic and horribly painful. I got lost between those pages. So lost that I didn’t hear my dad walk in until he brushed his hand against my shoulder, and I jumped into the air.
“Dad!” I exclaimed, fumbling to catch the book before it leaped off my lap.
“Sorry, Peanut. I’ve been calling your name.”
He glanced around me, at the memories spread across the bed, and smiled up at me with remorse heavy in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just pushed a few photos out of the way and sat down next to me, putting his hand on my knee. It was the silent support I needed.
Never once in the several long minutes did he try to speak or act like I was a bother. He was just there. As he had been twelve years before.
“You’re home early,” I finally managed to say.
He lifted his opposite hand and glanced down at his watch. “I try to leave a little early when I can.”
“Right. Umm…I honestly planned on being gone before you or mom got back. Sorry if I startled you.”
He chuckled and patted my leg twice. “I saw your car out front, so I figured you were here somewhere. It was a good surprise.” His smile turned sad. “What prompted this?” he asked, motioning to the box.
My sigh was loaded. I didn’t know how to respond. Telling my dad that I was freaking out because I was feeling emotions I hadn’t felt in almost a decade for someone I shouldn’t, didn’t seem wise.
It was also a lie. Because what I felt for Ryder went beyond anything I’d experienced before, which was more terrifying than the fact I was feeling anything at all.
“It was time,” I said, and he nodded.
“You haven’t looked since?—?”
“No,” I responded quickly with a sad smile.
He peered over my shoulder at the page the book was opened to and tried to stifle his laughter with a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, but that Halloween was great. ”
We looked ridiculous, but it was one of my favorite memories. I was Britney Spears, of course, and Daniel was the Joker. I’d thrown together my costume at the last minute, and by the end of the night, Daniel had sweated off his makeup, but neither of us cared about how we looked.
My dad flipped the page with a nod of approval from me, and we reminisced about each photo and memory. When I’d made the book, I never would have thought I’d be sitting there with my dad sifting through the pages.
It was supposed to be Daniel.
“I remember when you started this,” my dad began. “Your mom cried herself to sleep that night.”
My shock must have been written on my face. “I know, it’s hard to believe. She acts…well, she acts the way she does, but when you were in so much pain, we were right there with you.”
I shook my head and looked away.
“I know that what happened with Daniel, and then what happened after?—”
“Yeah,” I hurriedly said. More memories I didn’t want to be reminded of right then. Reminiscing about one relationship was enough for me.
He squeezed my knee, and I looked down at his hand. “All I’m saying is that whoever it is, they’re lucky to have you.”
I jerked my head up and closed the scrapbook, setting it down on the bed and sliding off the edge. I surveyed the mess I’d made and began putting everything back the way I found it.
“Why do you think this is about…someone?”
He snorted derisively and handed me a stack of photos I rearranged in an envelope. “Peanut, it’s hard not to notice. You’ve been distracted more than usual, smiling at your phone, and your reactions to your mom’s questions about your love life has…changed.”
“What do you mean? They haven’t changed.”
“Sure, I guess. You just don’t react at all anymore. You used to get defensive, and rightfully frustrated. Now, you just don’t say an ything at all.” I stopped with the jersey in my hands and considered what my dad was saying. I hadn’t seen my mom much since Ryder and I had started sleeping together, but when I did, she’d continued her usual questioning of my life choices and lack of partner.
I didn’t think my reactions had changed, though.
“Either way, I’m happy for you as long as you’re happy,” he said as he stood.
“That’s if I haven’t fucked it all up beyond repair.” Even mumbling under my breath, my dad heard my admission.
He stopped, and I watched as he contemplated whether he wanted to respond or leave it be. Then he made his decision that he couldn’t ignore it.
“You never know unless you try,” he said with a shrug. “You’re the most determined person I know. If you want to fix it, you will.”
Simple. He made it sound so simple, yet it was anything but. He kissed me on the forehead, patted my arm, and turned like he was going to leave the room. But he hesitated, glancing back at me with concern.
“I promise I’m okay,” I said, knowing exactly what he wanted to know. “At least, I think I will be.”
He nodded once, approving of my response enough to leave the room. I examined the contents still strewn across the bed and put everything back besides the scrapbook. That, I took with me.
I returned everything to its rightful place and even fixed the bed, so maybe only my father would know I’d been there. Rounding the bed, I caught sight of my appearance in the mirror above the dresser. I looked as rotten as I felt. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d left the house looking like that, but I’d spent the past few days feeling like the worst person in the world, so at least the inside matched the outside.
The moment I’d walked away from Ryder, I knew it was a mistake. Probably the biggest mistake I was going to make if I had kept going. So, I stopped. Whether I wanted to or not, my body p hysically wasn’t going to allow me to move forward. And for once, my heart, my brain, my body, were all in agreement—walking away was not an option.
I’d been resigned when I’d left him then felt this sudden anger that he’d disrupted my entire life. He was too good, and it fucked everything up. Without his interference, I would have gone on living my life without the emotions filling up the bottomless pit in my stomach.
He’d entered my life and irrevocably changed it. I just had to get my mind right enough to accept it. Which was why I was standing in my childhood bedroom, clutching the scrapbook I made for my dead ex-boyfriend.
I had things to work through before I could move forward. Mental barriers that seemed impenetrable until Ryder started knocking them down. Quietly at first and without my knowing, until he had crumbled each and every one. Until he made me realize what lay on the other side might be worth it.
That not everyone left, and I could trust him.
Going the rest of the wedding weekend without speaking to him or trying to ignore his watchful gaze was nearly impossible. It felt like walking around with my heart on the outside of my body. But I needed that time to think. And he’d been as patient as I’d asked which I knew had to be killing him.
Clutching the scrapbook in my hands, I walked down the stairs and waved goodbye to my dad who was standing at the kitchen island eating cold leftovers out of a plastic container.
When I got in my car, I set the book in the passenger seat next to me and backed out of the driveway. Without thinking, I knew exactly where I was going.
I just hoped he would open the door.